


Alter Ego

by Aja, earlgreytea68



Series: Alter Ego [1]
Category: Shenanigans (Original Universe), Time Ravel (Original Universe)
Genre: Alcoholism, Boston, Friends to Lovers, Hipsters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Podcast, Shenanigans (Original Universe) - Freeform, an endless series of rooftop bars, blur - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 16:30:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 75,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11763891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aja/pseuds/Aja, https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68
Summary: “When you are Elliot,” said Jane grandly, “why pretend to be anyone else?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of two main stories in what we are calling the Shenanigans universe. Our Dramatis Personae may be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11763933). The other main storyline may be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11763891). 
> 
> Thanks to kenopsia, oceaxe, and arctacuda for reading this in various stages of completion and listening to us whine for five months.
> 
> We suck at chapters but this fic is too long to post in one installment, so we have split it into two parts at a completely random place, sorry.
> 
> Thank you for reading and we hope you enjoy this madness!

It started with Google.

Not actual _Google_ , Google the company, which hired Jane away from Boston to come be some hot-shot fancy developer, which was definitely the Worst Thing to Happen since Evan had packed up and left to pursue acting and then Anna had packed up and left to pursue Evan, and even worse since Evan and Anna had only gone to New York, which practically didn’t even count, especially when compared with California. Like Jane, with her rumored Skype flirtation with a member of Big Bang and her brief stint writing code for Kojima, needed _Google_. As if Jane with her huge sunglasses and her wardrobe that managed to recycle white in varying textures and shades of perfection needed _Google_ to come snatch her away from Boston and Elliot and their weekly (monthly) get-togethers and Elliot and their shenanigans. And Elliot.

“You know we didn’t really have hipster shenanigans, right,” Jane said when she took Elliot out to lunch to break the news. At least she took him to their favorite gastrobistro, the one with the rooftop deck that looked over Harvard Square and had those mojitos that Nicholas loved so much.

“We had _so_ many hipster shenanigans,” Elliot protested. “We’ve had _years_ of hipster shenanigans.”

Jane took a drag on her cigarette. “I have, occasionally, deigned to watch while you told yourself you were having shenanigans.”

“That is an untruth,” Elliot argued. “I watched you change your laptop background to that _Who Framed Roger Rabbit_ wallpaper. That was all you.”

Jane pursed her lips.

“And,” Elliot continued, vindicated, “you totally stalked that one Minecraft artist on Reddit until you got him to make you a game build around digging up photos of Miranda July.”

Jane chuckled. “Ha. Yeah. That was pretty great.”

“Which, like, if you’re too hipster to embrace your past, that’s fine,” Elliot dug in, “but at least let me mourn the loss of our adventures.”

Jane narrowed her eyes and considered him over her sunglasses. “This is serious,” she said. “I even took the glitch art off my portfolio. I’ll be in California for three weeks out of the month. I’ll be adulting and shit. I won’t be around to distract you from... things. Or set you up with aesthetic blowjobs with people most likely to get you one step closer to Tony Leung.”

“I can get my own creeping-Tony-Leung-ward aesthetic blowjobs,” Elliot protested, frowning.

Jane regarded him calmly, her cigarette — she refused to vape, which baffled Elliot; a silver vape pen would have made her whole aesthetic that much more minimalist — dangling between her fingertips. It was a pose forbidding enough to deter every Boston waiter who would have otherwise reminded her that there was no smoking in Boston, and she was very good at holding it. “But will they be _aesthetic_?” she said.

The bright noon sun kept dinging off her sunglasses and Elliot kept wincing. “Everything is changing,” he said. “You’re going to California, Evan’s in SoHo, Blake dreams of randomly ending up doing improv in Chicago, Nicholas will finish medical school and get a residency God-knows-where. Nothing gold can stay, Ponyboy.”

“Okay, but you’ve all been graduated for like a decade,” Jane said.

“Two years,” Elliot clarified.

“At our age that’s practically a decade. It’s insane you’ve all stayed this close this long. You realize that, right? Normally people don’t stay close after college. They get lives, they move on.” She huffed. “There’s your first problem. None of you have lives. It’s like you’re all stuck in a Linklater film.”

“Don’t you daze and confuse me,” Elliot said. “I can leave the Seventies any time I want.”

“You know what I mean,” Jane countered, waving her hand around the column of smoke that billowed around her perfectly coiffed face. “It’s like you all just want to be twenty-year-olds performing together forever. Theatre, podcast, whatever, it never changes.”

The deal with Boston was that the touristy spots had been touristy spots for centuries, and city height restrictions meant that if you got up so high, as they were just then, you could look down Mass Ave and see a good mile and a half of city stretched out before you. Elliot had always loved Boston for its clean, esoteric aesthetic, its epicurean sensibilities and its dedication to learning and good taste. It was the kind of city you could feel smart in, and Elliot often liked to feel smart.

But he looked down Mass Ave as Jane spoke, and the city’s crisp apple-red lines suddenly seemed muddier and grimmer. Strange that Jane would talk of things never changing even as she brought change with her, sleek and perfunctory as the notes she made in her Erin Condren Life Planner with her tiny Muji pens.

Maybe they had all stayed too close for too long. Maybe change was inevitably on the horizon. Maybe Blake would stop having parties. Maybe Caroline would fall in love with some barista and move to fucking Buenos Aires or Melbourne or something, that seemed like just the sort of random thing Caroline would enjoy. Maybe Nicholas would get a residency in Alaska or Hawaii, as far away as he could, and bundle up his life and close up their apartment. Maybe everyone would scatter to the four winds and Elliot would be left in Boston wondering where everyone had gone and having to interact with <i> _new people </i>_.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t resist. He, after all, had been resisting for a long time. He had thought himself pretty good at keeping his friends circle together through sheer force of will. He could dig in harder, thoroughly entrench himself. He would find the key to the biggest, best, longest-lasting hipster schemes that would make Boston so amazing that Jane and Evan and Anna would want to come back, and no one else would ever want to leave. He would—

He blinked. Jane exhaled a perfect smoke ring.

“Wait a second,” he said. “What podcast?”

***

Jane left him on the rooftop deck and said, “Don’t spend all afternoon drinking mojitos,” like he didn’t have much better things to do than sit around all afternoon drinking _mojitos_. It was like Jane didn’t even _know_ him.

Elliot frowned and considered The Facts of the Podcast as relayed by Jane. They were sketchy at best. Elliot had told Jane she’d done bad reconnaissance and Jane had said, “I was busy _graduating_ ,” like that was an excuse to lose track of shenanigans. Elliot didn’t realize how much he’d let shenanigans get untidy around him. Anyway, Jane had said “Hazel’s starting a podcast. I don’t know. Whatever. Talk to Hazel.”

So he texted Hazel. Within Elliot’s complicated, intense circle of friends gained from their time doing theatre together at Emerson, Hazel was a three out of ten in terms of enjoying Elliot’s shenanigans. This was a major fault of Hazel’s, but Elliot had forgiven her for it because Hazel sometimes came up with her own shenanigans that Elliot was then able to co-opt and make a zillion times better. And Hazel was generally willing to tolerate Elliot’s co-opting because she had enough good sense to recognize Elliot’s superior taste, even if she didn’t _enjoy_ it, and if Elliot couldn’t get enjoyment from his friends, he was willing to take tolerance.

Elliot considered the right tone for his text to Hazel and settled on bright and friendly. _Hi! Haven’t caught up in a while! How are things?_

She didn’t text back.

He sat there drinking Frenchys and Googling “podcasts” on his phone because suddenly he had friends who thought they were into podcasts and those friends weren’t even texting him back. If Elliot didn’t spend all of his time watching his friends, they immediately veered off into weird pursuits like drunk Chekhov and _Doctor Who_ and hikes to fucking Walden.

Elliot checked his phone had reception—even though he’d just been _using_ his phone—and then texted Hazel again. _Did you hear about Jane?_ He considered, and then added some stupid crying emoji, because probably Hazel would like that.

Then he ordered another Frenchy and set a timer on his phone for five minutes and when it went off and Hazel still hadn’t texted him back, he texted Nicholas. _Hey_.

Nicholas texted back almost immediately, because Nicholas was a good friend. _Yes?_

Elliot texted back almost immediately, because Elliot was also a good friend. _Just checking my phone was working._

Which it obviously was. So Elliot frowned and texted Hazel again. He was going to get her to tell him about her fucking podcast if it killed him. _So, anything new going on with you?????_ He put the many question marks in just for her benefit. Multiple questions marks were spot-on Hazel’s aesthetic.

 

Hazel still didn’t text back. Elliot texted Jane, _It’s possible my phone is only sending some texts out_ , and Jane—a good friend—texted back immediately, _Well, I’m one of the lucky ones getting your texts_ , and Elliot ordered more Frenchys and read about some more horrifyingly dull podcasts. _Stuff You Should Know._ What kind of people listened to a _podcast_ called _Stuff You Should Know_?

Elliot texted Nicholas, _If I had a podcast, I’d call it Stuff You Should Know, and tell everyone all the stuff I think they should know._

Nicholas texted back: _You do have that podcast, except that by “podcast” I mean “that’s just your life”_ and then _Are you starting a podcast?_

_NO_ , Elliot texted back, horrified that Nicholas would even think that.

When the sun was setting the bartender said, “Seriously, are you maybe having a very quiet breakdown and I need to call someone to come help you?”

Elliot looked at him, aghast. “Do I look like I’m having a breakdown?” That would have been way against aesthetic. He didn’t have _breakdowns_.

“I don’t know what you look like,” the bartender said dubiously. “I’ve just never seen anyone drink so many Frenchys in a row.”

“They’re two-toned,” Elliot pointed out, because obviously if you were going to spend the day drinking, you should have an attractive drink to do it with. “Anyway, I was just leaving. I was just waiting for my friend.”

The bartender looked around the rooftop deck, which was emptying out as the April chill worked its way into the air.

Elliot said, “My friend’s not _here_ , I was waiting for him to get home from school,” as if he needed to assure this bartender that he had friends.

“Cool,” the bartender said, in a way that said _I think you don’t have friends_.

“For your information,” Elliot informed him loftily, “my friend is in medical school. He’s going to be a doctor.”

The bartender looked at him. “Good for him.”

“And all of my other friends are making a podcast together, I guess,” continued Elliot.

The bartender said, “...Okay.”

Elliot said, “ _Exactly_.” Even the bartender got how ridiculous that was.

***

Elliot took a Lyft to Nicholas's, sending his ride’s ETA to Nicholas so Nicholas could track him.

Jane texted him as he got out of the car at Nicholas’s building. _We should go shopping before I leave. Do you think California might require a slightly different look?_

_YES_ , Elliot texted back emphatically, and then let himself into Nicholas’s building with the spare key Nicholas had given him when it became clear that Elliot was obviously just going to mainly be at Nicholas’s all the time anyway the way he had been at Nicholas’s all the time throughout college except for when they’d lived together and then, well, he had just happened to officially-on-the-lease live at Nicholas’s and this saved Nicholas the effort of buzzing him in when he was in the middle of studying.

Once in Nicholas’s apartment, with its macrame sling chairs and coffee table made out of an old pallet and shattered mirrors, Elliot greeted Nicholas's cat, Ian Purrtis, and said, “I found out something really weird today.”

Nicholas, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the process of choosing a record to put on, looked up. “Is this is about Jane getting the job at Google?”

“What?” Elliot said. “How do you know about that?”

“She texted me. She said it’s now my job to get you aesthetic blowjobs. Just so you know, A, that’s not something I’m doing, and B, I don’t want to know the details about what you consider an ‘aesthetic’ blowjob.”

Elliot threw up his hands. He said, “Jane doesn’t get me blowjobs. If I want blowjobs, I am perfectly capable of getting my own blowjobs.”

“Good,” said Nicholas. “That’s really a relief to hear. I’m glad we settled that you getting yourself blowjobs is your job. I had always been operating under the assumption that if you wanted a blowjob, you would go out and get yourself a blowjob. Right?” Nicholas gave him a look.  

This was a pointless conversation. Elliot decided to refocus it. “Did you know that Hazel is starting a podcast?”

“Oh, so that’s what the podcast text was all about,” was Nicholas's reaction. “That makes sense, I could see that.”

“You could _see_ that?” echoed Elliot.

“Yeah, she’s probably making it with Jonah, right? Isn’t he back in town? That seems like a Jonah and Hazel thing to do.”

Jonah. Hazel’s BFF. Showy, over-the-top, Great Actor Jonah, who had never met a room he didn’t want to be the center of attention in, whose comet-streaking Hazel had been steadily supporting for years. Jonah had been in New York for the past couple of years but now that Nicholas had mentioned it, yes, he was back, wasn’t he? This podcast was, dispiritingly, entirely in Jonah and Hazel’s aesthetic, Elliot had to admit.

He threw himself down on the couch he’d helped Nicholas wrestle out of a garage in the Berkshires where it hadn’t been appreciated _at all_ and mumbled, “Classic Jonah and Hazel. “Why did Jonah come back to Boston?”

Nicholas gave him another look, this one amused and fond and warm. He said, “Really? You’re always lamenting that anyone ever leaves Boston. You’re, like, single-handedly freaking out about the possibility of negative population growth. I thought you’d be delighted to gain another person for the census.”

“Did that person have to be _Jonah_?”

“You realize,” Nicholas said mildly, shifting through records, “that you resent when Jonah’s around because he challenges your supremacy as Most Demanding Social Presence in a Room?”

Elliot huffed and said, “You should just go with Blur already.”

“I don't always go with Blur,” Nicholas said a bit sulkily as his fingers hovered between Nick Cave and the Velvet Underground. (Elliot didn't think much of Nicholas's cataloguing system, whatever it was.)

“You do always go with Blur,” said Elliot. He indulged a brief wave of affection; oh, Nicholas, so smart, so observant, so little self-knowledge.

“Fine,” said Nicholas, and he pulled out his worn crackly LP of _Modern Life Is Rubbish_ and placed it gingerly on his turntable. Elliot lay back on the couch and tucked his hands beneath his head as Damon Albarn began to croon, _He's a twentieth century boy with his hands on the rails_. He was still buzzed from all the Frenchys. The Frenchys and his justified podcast-related indignation.

Nicholas was a second-year medical student at Boston University Medical Center. He’d fought with his very conservative family and had never really made up with them, resigned to distantly polite telephone calls once in a blue moon, but he had very practically accepted their gesture of proud goodwill in offering to pay his rent while he got through medical school. And, because Nicholas didn’t have a spiteful bone in his body and needed Elliot to do that for him, and because Elliot had never forgiven Nicholas’s parents for what went down because whenever Nicholas referenced it it was still obviously painful and horrible for him and so it had to have been a _monumentally_ terrible thing because Nicholas was a naturally forgiving soul who unerringly forgave Elliot all of his shenanigans, when he found out Nicholas was accepting rent money, Elliot had said to Nicholas, “Make sure you get enough for a two-bedroom, you’ll need somewhere to study.”

And Elliot had really meant that, it was important for Nicholas to have a place to study, medical school was hard and stressful. So when Elliot crashed at Nicholas’s, the way he so often inevitably did, he graciously used the couch instead of Nicholas’s study.  

Nicholas’s apartment was in Quincy, which was close to BUMC and quasi-affordable in the way nothing in the Boston area really was. Elliot didn’t care for Quincy very much, but Elliot adored Nicholas’s apartment. It was rustic and homey and so very _Nicholas_ , and Elliot felt like everything in life was better once you stepped inside of it. Ian Purrtis would always come right up to Elliot and butt his head against Elliot’s shins, purring loudly while Nicholas offered him whatever random and exotic craft beer he happened to have in the fridge. Elliot’s life was superior to every other life in the entire universe, Elliot thought at such moments.

“Hey,” Nicholas said, interrupting Elliot’s sleepy reflections on how much he loved Nicholas’s apartment.

“Mmm,” murmured Elliot.

“Did it really weird you out that much?”

“What?”

“Hazel and Jonah, making a podcast without you,” Nicholas said.

“It’s not that they’re making a podcast _without_ me,” Elliot yawned. “It’s that they’re _making a podcast_. Imagine. _They’re_ making a podcast. Do you not remember that truly horrible one-act ‘play’ that Hazel wrote and made Jonah act in? And how I almost shriveled up and died during it?”

Nicholas laughed and said, “I do in fact remember that. It was a very dramatic shriveling up and dying. I believe you told me to scatter your ashes over the bright lights of 42nd Street.”

“It was a melodramatic move appropriate to the horribleness of the one-act play.”

“It was a melodramatic move appropriate to _you_ ,” corrected Nicholas, still sounding amused.

“To be great is to be misunderstood,” said Elliot, not at all dramatically.

“Listen up, Ralph Waldo Emerson,” said Nicholas.  “You always throw shade at Hazel and Jonah. She loves to write and Jonah loves to act. They just want to pursue their art. A podcast makes perfect sense.”

Elliot snorted. “ _Jonah_ does not just want to pursue his art, unless his art is in your pants.”

“You’ve always thought that because you make up stories in your own head that have nothing to do with reality,” said Nicholas.

“Uh, the reality that he moved out of The Eggplant and ditched us so he could get over his unrequited crush on you.”

“Fact-check, Kellyanne, you know I always hated that nickname because the walls were mauve, not purple. And Jonah moved out because he needed somewhere he could run lines without you hiding one-night stands in his room whenever Caroline came over because you didn’t want her to know how quickly you’d gotten over your Chandler-Monica thing, and I’m pretty sure Jonah never had a crush on me.”

“That one-night stand was _one time_ and the walls were totally purple but it makes sense that you didn’t notice that because you are terrible at noticing things, like _Jonah flinging sex against you at every opportunity_ , and—”

“Focus,” Nicholas said. “Podcast.”

Somewhere in the previous few minutes Elliot had opened his eyes and repositioned himself to more effectively argue with Nicholas; now he flopped back down on Nicholas's couch again.

“It’s just _weird_ ,” he sighed, waving a hand. “We used to all do shit like this together. We used to _be_ together. Now Hazel’s all, off with all her new SoulCycle friends or whatever, and Jonah comes back into town and I barely even know, no one was even going to _tell_ me about this podcast, they were just going to leave me out.”

“Oh,” said Nicholas. “That’s not true. That’s not true at all.”

“When was the last time Hazel came to one of Blake’s parties?” Elliot challenged him. “When was the last time you saw her at Deep Ellum? Why didn’t we get a big group text, or a Facebook invite, or something, saying, ‘Jonah’s back in town! Come out for drinks!’?”

“They’re not leaving anyone out,” Nicholas said soothingly. “You’ll see, they’ll come around knocking on doors asking if any of us want to play bit parts.” He stood up and grabbed an extra blanket from the ottoman behind the couch. It was one of the fuzzy chenille kinds and Elliot made grabby hands for it. Nicholas rolled his eyes and draped it over him.

“She didn’t even text me back,” Elliot muttered as he tucked the blanket over his shoulders and squirmed down into the couch cushions.

“Hmm.” He could hear Nicholas doing stuff, lowering the volume of the sound system, moving around the room collecting cider bottles. “Okay, you win. We’ll track down Hazel and solve the case of the missing podcast performers.”

Elliot smiled. “Shenanigans,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Elliot said, closing his eyes once more.

****

Elliot woke up to Ian Purrtis sitting heavy on his chest and purring really loudly, and the sound of Nicholas doing something in the kitchen. Elliot opened his eyes to find Ian Purrtis staring him down from two inches away.

“Good morning to you, too,” Elliot told him.

Ian Purrtis purred.

“Remember when I said you should take Ian Purrtis to your apartment because I’m not even supposed to have a cat in here and you insisted he stay here because he’d shown up on my fire escape and clearly had formed an emotional attachment to me?” remarked Nicholas as he came out of the kitchen with a bagel.

“Yes,” said Elliot.

“He sleeps on your chest all night whenever you stay over here,” Nicholas said. “He is clearly, in his cat heart of hearts, _your_ cat.”

Elliot said, “Not true, he loves you very much,” but scritched Ian Purrtis under his chin as a reward for being his favorite.

Nicholas took a bite of the bagel, because apparently that bagel hadn’t been for Elliot, and said, “Hazel’s coming out to Deep Ellum tonight.”

Elliot stopped wondering if he could get Nicholas to stick a bagel in the toaster for him. “What? How do you know that?”

“I texted her. Hey, do you want a bagel?”

Elliot sat up, disturbing Ian Purrtis, who yowled indignantly and stalked away. “She texted you back?”

“Yeah—”

Elliot stood up, keeping himself cocooned in the chenille throw, and plopped himself in the mismatched chair opposite Nicholas that Nicholas had bought from the local library when it had been upgrading, plucking Nicholas's phone out of his hand at the same time and reading Nicholas's text to Hazel and Hazel’s reply. “You to Hazel: ‘Hi, Hazel, it’s been a little while! Deep Ellum tonight? We need to make much of Jane while she’s still here!’ Hazel to you _seven minutes later_ , what the fuck: ‘Nicholas!’ With an exclamation point! She calls you ‘Nicholas!’ with an exclamation point.”

“Oh, that’s pretty common,” said Nicholas. “It’s weird that you _don’t_ call me Nicholas with an exclamation point all the time. Everyone else does.”

“That’s not true,” said Elliot, but wondered if he should go through Nicholas's texts just to make sure. “The point is: ‘Nicholas!’ she says, with an exclamation point. ‘Great to hear from you! Drinks after work! It’s a plot!’ It’s a _plot_? Who says that?”

“Probably podcast writers,” said Nicholas. “She’s probably deep into plotting at the moment.”

“Hazel doesn’t plot, you know. Hazel hates plotting. That entire one-act play, you will remember, was supposed to be a demonstration of the pointlessness of plot.”

“You remember a lot about this one-act play for someone who hated it,” remarked Nicholas, calmly drinking his coffee.

“It was traumatic. I relived it in vivid nightmares for weeks afterward and woke up shaking in a cold sweat.”

“Astonishing you didn’t sue for infliction of emotional distress,” said Nicholas mildly.

“And the point is.” Elliot brandished Nicholas's phone. “I texted her, like, that exact same thing, and she didn’t text me back! I even put in sad emojis, and multiple question marks.”

“Multiple question marks?”

“That’s Hazel’s aesthetic.”

“Can I have my phone back now? I have to go to class. I can’t stay here with you having existential texting crises.”

“I’m not having existential texting crises. I don’t have crises,” said Elliot, and gave Nicholas back his phone.

“And you don’t need to,” Nicholas said, pocketing the phone, “because tonight we’ll get to the bottom of the podcast thing for you, okay? In the meantime, there’s coffee, and I stuck a bagel in the toaster for you already, just push it down, and try not to spoil Ian Purrtis too much while I’m gone.”

“I don’t always spoil Ian Purrtis,” said Elliot.

“You do always spoil Ian Purrtis,” said Nicholas.

As soon as Nicholas had gone, Elliot promptly dumped out the pot of generic Trader Joe’s coffee he’d made and brewed himself a new pot from the organic Guatemalan roast Nicholas was “hiding” from him in the back of the coffee shelf. He picked Ian Purrtis up and rubbed his forehead with his nose, because _whatever_ , Ian Purrtis was Nicholas’s cat but Elliot had a _special relationship_ with him and could spoil him if he wanted, and Elliot would just keep tipping the dry cleaner extra or something to deal with the hair he was getting all over his new Blank Label. Ian Purrtis purred so loudly Elliot decided to keep the cat perched on his shoulder while he poured the coffee, grabbed the bagel from the toaster with his teeth, and wandered into his office.

His office was technically Nicholas's study, but somehow over time Elliot had moved his own second laptop to Nicholas's desk, along with a few sets of work files, a caddy full of sharpened pencils to replace Nicholas's caddy full of Bics, and the Wacom tablet he used to futz around with website schematics as if he were a real developer. He wasn’t; he was a business analyst, which was a fancy way of saying he project-managed project managers. But he got to spend all his time convincing people that most of their aesthetic decisions were bloated, gaudy, and likely to cause site slowdown, which was a lovely way to get paid. And Nicholas’s study was one of his favorite places to work, settled in with Nicholas’s schoolbooks all around him, Nicholas’s color-coded binders full of notes, Nicholas’s life-sized human skeleton. What better aesthetic for work?

Cat now settled in his lap, Elliot rolled up to the desk and set about politely informing a client that their corporation did not need to spend an extra $60,000 on the contractor that had promised them they could make their website “pop;” and it would help, in addition, if his company board would get it through their heads that their massive website overhaul would not be done in six weeks.

Elliot was, frankly, quite good at his job, which was why the companies he worked with were all too happy to let him keep his own hours and work remotely. He sent the email and looked down at Ian Purrtis, who obligingly sniffed his face.

“I’m good at my job, Ian Purrtis,” Elliot said. “Does Hazel think I’m bad at things? Does she think my love of shenanigans has rendered me non-podcast-worthy? Well, I’ll show her. I’ll be the _most_ podcast-worthy. Starting tonight.”

***

It was Blake who first found Deep Ellum, during a stint when he was living in an otherwise deeply tragic Allston apartment and, to avoid it, spent all of his time systematically investigating all neighborhood businesses and sometimes dragging everyone else along. Some of them were so horrifying that Elliot had blocked them out for fear of forever destroying all of his aesthetic good sense, but Deep Ellum had stuck despite the nominal seating and dubious taste in patio food trucks because it had an extensive craft beer list, a sufficient number of cocktails with house-made bitters, and deviled eggs on the menu. Caroline and Blake both thought deviled eggs were the best things for a bar to offer, ever—Caroline because she was nostalgic for her days spending summers with Southern grandparents, Blake because he thought the entire concept of turning an egg yolk into mayonnaise paste was hilarious. Elliot was annoyed by the very fact that he knew this much about Caroline and Blake’s egg preferences, and thus doubly annoyed by the deviled eggs.

Caroline and Blake already had an order of deviled eggs when Elliot walked onto the patio. They always commandeered the table in the back right corner so they could most effectively judge all the other bar-goers. Caroline was beaming at her eggs like they were about to burst into song and serenade her.

“Elliot!” they exclaimed in unison, with a little more enthusiasm than even Elliot thought his arrival occasioned. Then again, Caroline and Blake were usually more chipper than people had any right being, so maybe the presence of their beloved deviled eggs was amplifying their joy.

“Hi,” he said and went to order himself an Oaxacan Rose. Upon his return, he dutifully exchanged quips with Blake about the floofiness of their drink selections — Blake had a cherry mojito, the same thing he always ordered, because that was classic Blake and Elliot was just going to have to live with the life choices that had led to his being surrounded by people who drank mojitos — and wrinkled his nose when Caroline speared one of her deviled eggs and waved it around on her fork in front of his mouth. He leaned away, and leaned away, and soon he was listing into Blake’s space and Caroline was tilting against him until he could spot the glitter in her eyeshadow.

Caroline followed her Elliotward trajectory by flinging her arm gracefully around his neck. It was just the sort of beautifully, picturesquely melodramatic move that Caroline adored and that had, once upon a time, been why Elliot thought they were totally going to be the Chandler/Monica of the whole group, until they figured out neither one of them was a Chandler or a Monica. “So,” she said, placing the deviled egg back on its plate in a manner that signified it was time for serious conversation. “The Jane news. Are you devastated?”

Elliot had prepared for this. Elliot had, with the help of Ian Purrtis that day, come to Deep Ellum with a Hipster Scheme in place. Hazel thought she could plot? Hazel had nothing on Elliot. Elliot’s Hipster Scheme was as follows:

<ol><li>He would be very mature about Jane’s fantastic opportunity and not make it All About Him, because now that he had been given time to absorb it, he had decided to take it all in such good grace that each of his friends would be shocked, and they would all talk about his graciousness amongst themselves, and they would thus say unto Hazel: “Isn’t Elliot being, like, so chill about this Jane thing? Verily, he is a being of pure benevolence,” and Hazel would have to rethink her views on Elliot’s podcast ineligibility.   </li>

<li>After impressing everyone with his maturity over Jane’s departure, he would segue into a conversation with Hazel about her podcast, in which she would be reminded that his excellent taste and undeniable charm was exactly what her nebulous podcast needed to rescue it from what might otherwise be a tragedy.</li></ol>

Hazel wasn’t there yet, but Elliot figured he might as well practice the first part of his plan. He said, “It’s a great opportunity for her, right? Google. Cool, right?”

Caroline and Blake stared at him. Clearly very impressed with him.

Blake looked up from picking the cherry pits out of the cherries in his cherry mojito and said, “I thought you would think it was sell-y-out-y.”

“Oh,” said Elliot. “It is _very_ sell-y-out-y, but, you know.” He took a sip of his drink as loftily as he could manage.

“That was almost a mature thing to say,” Caroline said.

“Thank you,” Elliot said, pleased.

“Which means you’re up to something,” she added.

Elliot narrowed his eyes at her.

“He can’t be up to something,” Blake said. “He’s lost his shenanigans partner.”

“See,” said Elliot, “I _told_ Jane that she was my shenanigans partner! Everyone knows that! She’s in denial about it.”

“You have a lot of shenanigans partners, though,” said Caroline. “You have all the shenanigans partners. Jane is not so much your shenanigans partner as your...Charlie.”

“My Charlie?” said Elliot.

“Like in Charlie’s Angels. She brings the shenanigans to you, and then judges your handling of them.”

“First of all, _Charlie’s Angels_? What kind of reference is that? Second of all, this is not even like Charlie’s Angels. Charlie didn’t bring the Angels _shenanigans_.”

“Oh, please, every single 70s crime show was composed of nothing but shenanigans,” Caroline said.

“You could just not do shenanigans,” Blake suggested, out of the blue.

“What?” said Elliot.

“If Jane’s your Charlie and you’re an Angel--”

“Neither of those things is true,” said Elliot.

“--maybe the answer is: no more shenanigans.”  

“Be _shenanigan-less_?” said Elliot. “We might as well just give up and buy minivans and start drinking Budweisers and wearing clothes from Target.”

“You have this very specific fear of your future, you know,” Blake said. “It’s very well-articulated.”

“Elliot thinks anyone over the age of 25 is in perpetual danger of turning into a suburbanite GOP voter with two cars and stock options,” Caroline said.

“It is a fate I have thus far narrowly avoided,” Elliot agreed. “A fate I have thus far kept you all from.”

“Google has stock options,” Blake said.

“Look, you,” Elliot said, and then, as a thought occurred to him: “Hey. You’re kind of an actor.”

Blake raised his eyebrows in a way that suggested Elliot’s clever subtle subject change was not as subtle and clever as he had hoped. “I occasionally say words onstage when I’m not emceeing karaoke for the local Applebee’s.”

“You _don’t_ emcee karaoke for the local Applebee’s,” said Caroline.

“Shh, don’t crush my dreams.” Blake swirled his finger around the middle of his deviled egg yolk paste, then licked away the ensuing dollop with a flourish. “Although, what I really want to do is direct.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Why are you asking Blake about acting when Jonah and Evan are the pros?”

“Thank you, Caroline, for your support,” said Blake.

“Whatever about Jonah,” said Elliot.

Caroline’s eyes were still rolling. “Why are you asking about acting at all?”

“Did Hazel ask you to be in her podcast?”

“Her what?” asked Blake.

“Hazel’s making a podcast?” _Now_ Caroline finally looked impressed. “That is such a great idea. I love podcasts. I listen to _Serial_ and _The Moth_ , like, all the time.”

“You can’t just pick the two most mainstream podcasts there are and say you love podcasts,” said Elliot. “At least pick something relatively obscure. Have you no sense of pride?”

“Are you still on this podcast thing?” asked Jane, as she squeezed through the gathering crowd to them.

“No,” denied Elliot. “I’m not _on_ the podcast thing. I mean, I’m just... expressing interest in this new venture.” He stood to give Jane his seat, even though they had a table to themselves and the patio had yet to fill with people.

“Uh-oh,” said Jane, eying him.

“What ‘uh-oh’?”

“You’re scheming. You have your scheming face on.”

“This is just my face.”

Jane snorted. “Exactly.”

Elliot left his expression deliberately unchanged and said, “I merely stood up on my way to fetch you a gin fizz,” because Jane always got a gin fizz at Deep Ellum.  

“With real egg white,” Jane clarified.

“I would never,” Elliot said, "betray you with fake egg whites.”

Jane looked at Caroline and Blake and blew out a breath and smiled and said, “Hi,” and he left the two of them congratulating her on the move as he forged back through the crowd to the bar. Elliot watched the bartender make Jane’s gin fizz, so that he could say honestly to Jane, when it was delivered, “He used real egg white.”

By the time he returned to their table, Jane had transitioned from regaling them with job details to complaining about packing. She took a sip of her drink while Caroline and Blake debated whether they ought to order more deviled eggs for everyone else’s arrival, then gave Elliot a once-over. “These drinks tonight. Was this your idea?”

“It was Nicholas's,” said Elliot.

“Uh-huh,” said Jane. “And what do you have up your sleeve here?” Jane actually tugged on Elliot’s rolled-up left sleeve.

“Shenanigans,” Caroline inserted from within the middle of the deviled egg debate. “What else?”

“He wants me to star in a podcast,” said Blake.

“That seems like the opposite of a Elliot-level shenanigan,” said Jane, and Elliot’s grin completely escaped him.  

He straightened his cuff again and said, “You know I’ll help you pack, right? Like, you don’t have to get overwhelmed by that. Of course I’ll help you pack. I’m basically the only person we know who is capable of packing you in an organized fashion that isn’t going to destroy every single one of your beautiful belongings.”

Jane gave him a look like she really hadn’t expected him to help her pack. “Thank you,” she said. “I know you don’t really want me to take this job—”

“Move across the country,” Elliot corrected. “Make me procure my own aesthetic Tony-Leung-kind-of-adjacent blowjobs. Subject me to all of these people who drink really ugly-looking drinks instead of beautiful white ones that fit an aesthetic. You’re kind of a terrible friend, but it’s okay, I’m a nice person and I’ll still help you pack.”

Jane smiled at him, and then she said, “What’s this shirt? Is it new?”

“Yes,” he said, because Jane always noticed these things and he was going to miss that so much. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s covered in cat hair because you clearly worked from Nicholas's today.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Elliot ruefully. “Believe it or not this looks _better_ than it did before. Everything at Nicholas's immediately becomes covered in cat hair.”

“That happens when you cuddle the cat all the time,” said Jane.

“We all know you love Nicholas's cat,” said Caroline. “Just like we all know—”

“Jane!” And suddenly Hazel was there, swooping upon Jane with the hug of the blatantly over-enthused, miraculously holding a whisky sour in one hand and spilling not a single drop as she somehow managed to wedge herself between Elliot and Jane on the bench. “Google! So exciting!”

“Thanks!” said Jane. “It’s weird, right?”

“Not weird!” protested Hazel. “Absolutely deserved!”

“Jane!” said Jonah, suddenly standing behind Hazel, “Our adventuress. _L'avventuriera_.” He rolled his r’s extravagantly and Elliot absolutely didn’t roll his eyes just as extravagantly.

“Thank you, Jonah,” said Jane, toasting him with her gin fizz while Elliot wondered why it was that no one else ever seemed to get how absurd Jonah was at all times. “Welcome home!”

Before they got off on a pointless tangent about Jonah’s homecoming, Elliot strategically leaned around Hazel to hug Jane, which meant he was practically hugging Hazel in what could only have been conceived as a gesture of camaraderie and fellow joie de vivre. “Google. Such a great opportunity!”

Across the table, Caroline snorted. Jane narrowed her eyes at him. Hazel said, “Um. Sure! Great!” and then immediately thrust Elliot’s arm back in his lap and left the table again.

Jonah sat down on Elliot’s other side as Hazel left, and Elliot tried and failed to think of some sort of non-mundane greeting. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Jonah cleared his throat and said, “Hi, Elliot.”

“Hi,” Elliot said. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” said Jonah courteously.

“How long have you been back?” asked Elliot.

“A few weeks.” Jonah waved an artfully negligent hand in the air.

“A few weeks,” echoed Elliot. “We could have had a welcome home party.”

“We could have done it at my house,” said Blake. “Remember how I throw weekly-monthly parties?” It was true: Blake threw weekly (more usually monthly) parties at his parents’ house, full of elaborate Blake-level performance art.

“Right, yeah, we could have done it at a weekly-monthly party,” Elliot rejoined, swatting him away. “But Hazel never comes to those anymore.”

“I’ve been busy,” said Hazel.

“SoulCycle?” said Elliot.

“What?” said Hazel.

Elliot decided to get back on track. “So,” he said. “The podcast. It sounds _so_ interesting.” He leaned in and put his hand on his chin. “Tell me all about it.”

Jonah looked surprised. Blake leaned halfway across the table to listen in. Jane lifted her eyebrows at Caroline and sipped her gin fizz.

Hazel said carefully, “It’s in early stages. Tim is writing it with me—”

“Who?” Elliot asked. He was going to be triumphant later with Nicholas, he thought. Clearly Hazel had already gone out and found new friends, just as Elliot had suspected.

Hazel blinked at him. “My boyfriend?”

“Oh,” said Elliot vaguely, disinterested in Hazel’s boring romantic machinations when there was  shenanigan podcast to discuss.

“You’ve met him,” Hazel said.

“Right, yeah, I remember,” said Elliot, not remembering.

“He’s right there,” Hazel said, pointing to a person Elliot had thought might have been just passing by their table and stopped to admire their aesthetic or something.

“Of course,” Elliot said. “Hi.” He turned back to Hazel. “So where are you on casting?”  

“We haven’t yet,” said Hazel.

“You mean you haven’t cast _Jonah_?” Elliot couldn’t resist saying, because obviously Hazel had cast Jonah.

“Oh, well, obviously we’ve cast Jonah,” said Hazel, because Hazel was more reliable than a Kari Voutilainen watch. “But it’s all super-vague right now.”

“What’s it going to be about?” Elliot asked.

“You won’t like it,” Hazel said. “You’re going to think it’s stupid,” she said. “It doesn’t fit in with your whole... ‘vibe’ or whatever.”

“I resent that,” said Elliot. “My aesthetic is very complex. It’s impossible to say what my aesthetic actually is.”

“I can say what your aesthetic is,” said Jane helpfully.

“That’s okay, drink your gin fizz,” said Elliot, reaching across Hazel to push it into Jane’s hand.

“The podcast is serious,” Hazel told him, turning towards him. “It’s a serious thing, Elliot.”

“I’m a serious person,” Elliot said earnestly. “So what’s it about, this serious podcast?”

“It’s experimental,” said Hazel. “Kind of a speculative sci-fi, high-fantasy, dystopian, psychedelic, horror, Southern Gothic, social commentary type of thing.”

Elliot blinked. Then he said, “That’s...You’ve just named basically every single genre there is.”

“It’s going to be set in Antarctica centuries in the future after climate change has melted the ice caps,” said Hazel. “And it’s basically going to be, like, a murder mystery. Like, true crime, without the true part.”

Elliot was going to be very supportive of Hazel’s podcast. Especially now. Because clearly this was a podcast that _needed_ him. “But that’s...that’s yet another genre. You can’t... you can’t just... I mean, mash everything together like that, it’s going to be a jumbled mess—”

“It’s a _genre_ _hybrid_ ,” said Hazel.

“It’s a Southern Gothic set in _Antarctica_ ,” said Elliot.

“Right,” said Hazel. “Antarctica is south.”

“That’s—that’s not what ‘Southern Gothic’ means,” said Elliot, reaching for his drink and taking a long gulp.

“Of course I know what Southern Gothic means, Elliot,” said Hazel, who was also taking a long drink of her whisky sour. “But there will be overarching _themes_ borrowed from different genres.”

Elliot had a lot of thoughts. Elliot remembered his hipster scheme and mustered all of the cheesy enthusiasm he could and said, around a smile so wide it hurt him, “So you and your boyfriend and Jonah are making a podcast. I think that’s great. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about it.”

“Tell me again why I should have?” said Hazel, eying him.

“Well, I mean,” said Elliot, which basically said everything he could think of to say. And was probably the wrong approach to the ‘impress Hazel’ part of his plan..

Hazel slumped down in her seat and drained her glass.

“Well,” said Blake, “I think it sounds amazing.” He gave Hazel an encouraging smile. “Are there going to be a lot of parts?”

“Yeah,” said Elliot, blithely piggy-backing on Blake’s inquiry. “Parts for all of us?”

“Do you even act?” asked Jonah blandly.

“Jonah, I act,” Elliot said. “We were in theater classes together. We did whole productions together.”

“Yeah, I don’t remember you acting in those,” Jonah said. “You just kind of... played yourself all the time when you weren’t directing.”

“When you are Elliot,” said Jane grandly, “why pretend to be anyone else?”

“Well,” said Blake, “I’d love to be in your podcast.”

“Same,” said Caroline. “I can be a bit part or whatever you need.” Hazel finally stopped eying Elliot and flashed her a smile.

“Thanks,” she said, including Blake in the good will, too. “Of course you can be in it. We’d love to work with you guys.” And then, then, she looked back at Elliot again. “So,” she said, folding her arms. “Why do you want to know so much about the podcast? Are you into acting again?”

Elliot kind of hated this podcast. He kind of hated that it was the only shenanigan on offer at the moment. And he kind of hated that he’d fucked up his plan and clearly Hazel and Jonah and Hazel’s boyfriend whats-his-name were not going to ask him to be in their stupid podcast.

Elliot looked back at Hazel without answering, because Elliot didn’t want to say, _Yes, Hazel, please put me in your stupid podcast before it takes all of my friends away from me because I’m the only one not in your cast of thousands as you flailingly attack every genre that has ever existed_.

Elliot was a good schemer, and part of being a good schemer was having another scheme in the pocket of your A.P.C. pants for when the first one went awry. And so it was that, just then, he found one—quite literally in his pocket as his phone buzzed.

Elliot reached down to silence what was undoubtedly a text from his unwitting savior, looked at Hazel, and said, “No. But you know who is? Nicholas.”

***

Elliot had discovered, sometime honestly within two weeks of meeting Nicholas in college at a pop-up restaurant for ironic corn-dog lovers, that Nicholas could have gotten away with murder if he’d wanted to, and it drove Elliot a little crazy, because Nicholas just so seldom _capitalized_ on it. Everybody trusted Nicholas, thought he was an angel, said things like Serious and Responsible when asked about Nicholas.

Elliot was self-aware enough to know, thank you very much, that people didn’t say things like that about him. And mostly Elliot was okay with his common adjectives being Playful or Pretentious, because he couldn’t really argue with that; but because everyone trusted Nicholas and thought he could do no wrong, Elliot had gotten in the habit from many years ago of always making sure Nicholas was involved in his shenanigans wherever possible. Nicholas was essentially his back-up plan, his get-out-of-jail-free card. Nicholas was his reference letter, but for life. There was no one in the universe immune to Elliot’s charms who couldn’t be persuaded with reference to Nicholas. So it wasn’t like Elliot had planned a whole speech as to why Nicholas should have a starring role in the podcast; more like he’d planned that speech years ago and was still adapting it to every possible situation.

In this situation, it went like this: Nicholas was dependable, even-tempered, a delight to work with, and fun. Everyone was listening to Elliot’s speech about Nicholas raptly, including Hazel’s apparent writer boyfriend. He thought everyone looked sufficiently persuaded by his recitation of Nicholas's advantages as a podcast star, namely that he was Creative without being Precious about it, Practical in the best sort of Whimsical way, and Really Good at Washing Dishes (and surely someone at some point would have to wash dishes).

Jonah finally took advantage of an interlude that Elliot allowed for appropriate questions to say, sounding amused, “Okay, but you gave me this exact same speech about Nicholas when you convinced me to room with the two of you.”

“I’m pretty sure you gave me this exact same speech about Nicholas when you convinced me to _date_ you,” said Caroline.

Jane looked gleeful about this.

Caroline flicked a piece of parsley garnish at Elliot.

Blake said, “Nicholas isn’t an actor. He’s a doctor.”

“He’s a medical student,” Elliot said.

“Almost the same thing,” said Blake dubiously, like being a doctor was something to be _dubious_ about.

“Nicholas is going to be a doctor but he’s still also an actor. Nicholas has always been a really good actor. Just because he chose a very important career _saving people’s lives_ , just because he chose _selflessness_ over single-minded pursuit of any of his own dreams, doesn’t mean he’s not an _actor_.”

“No one is saying he’s not an actor,” Hazel began.

But Elliot was fully in his Nicholas Promotional Flow and not about to be deterred, especially since Jonah was giving him a full-on sardonic look and Elliot _knew_ Jonah was about to bring up _The Iceman Cometh_ because Jonah had never fucking gotten over the _Iceman Cometh_ thing so Elliot said quickly, “He even won a regional acting award for his brilliant portrayal of Hickey in _The Iceman Cometh_.” And then added sweetly, “Remember?” as if Jonah might somehow forget that.

Jonah said drily, “We all remember. You never shut up about how brilliant a director you’d been to cast him.”  

It had been, in fact, the most significant production Elliot had ever directed in his brief directing career. And so yes, he’d cast Nicholas in the lead. Hickey was a huge part, both in terms of reputation and in terms of size; the actor who played him had to deliver nearly two hours of continuous monologues. Jonah had auditioned, and he was coming off a string of lead roles, so everyone, including him, assumed he’d be a shoe-in.

But Nicholas had just been... better. More grounded, more down-to-earth, more like an ominous trickster who could drop into a bar, puncture the self-delusions of everyone in it, and walk away again. As much as any guy in his 20s could carry off O’Neil, Nicholas had seemed like the kind of guy who could read a room instantly and then mesmerize everyone in it. He was _Nicholas_. Elliot couldn’t imagine people not being mesmerized by him.

So Elliot had cast Nicholas, and Elliot had spent hours running lines with Nicholas, and even though Nicholas had been nervous about fucking it up, he’d been brilliant because Nicholas was always brilliant. And Elliot knew he’d been right because then Nicholas had won that award.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t a _not_ brilliant director,” allowed Elliot modestly.

“The podcast doesn’t need a director,” said Hazel.

“I am not angling to be a director. I don’t _want_ to direct. I am saying that just the other day, Nicholas was saying to me that he thought the times we all spent onstage together were some of the happiest in his life. In fact, last week I caught him longingly staring at a call sheet for _Fences_. What with his busy class schedule learning how to save all of us from horrible deaths, Nicholas has been pining for a chance to exercise his creative side. And don’t we all need that?”

A resounding silence followed this speech.

“Where is Nicholas, anyway?” asked Hazel after a moment. She did not look as though Elliot’s speech had convinced her.

“Stuck on the T with Kate,” Jane said. “They’ve been texting about their ordeal. I’m the only one who has shown any sympathy.” Jane held up her phone.

Everyone pulled out their phones at that point.

And yes, Elliot had a ton of missed group texts from Nicholas and Kate about their T debacle, and then the phone buzzed in his hand with an incoming call from Nicholas.

Elliot answered with, “Hey. Are you still on the T?”

“No,” Nicholas said. “We are finally, _finally_ off the godforsaken T. We are walking to the bar right now.”

“We need so much alcohol!” Kate shouted into Nicholas's phone.

“How’s it going?” Nicholas asked. “Have you gotten yourself a starring role yet?”

“Almost,” said Elliot. “How close are you? I’ll get you a drink.”

“Two minutes,” said Nicholas.

“Get me a drink, too!” shouted Kate.

Elliot ended the call and fetched Nicholas one of those Jambe-de-Bois beers he loved and then made it two because he had no idea what Kate might like and that seemed good enough. And then he returned to his audience and said loudly, “In conclusion,” to get their attention back.

Caroline flicked another piece of parsley garnish at him.

“How much parsley do you have over there?” Elliot demanded.

“A lot,” said Caroline, looking unrepentant. “We had a lot of deviled eggs. Why? Is it ruining your aesthetic?”

“ _In conclusion_ ,” Elliot reiterated, not to be deterred, especially not with a clock ticking down, because Nicholas would hate Elliot’s Speech About Nicholas and so Elliot never made it in front of him, “Nicholas would make an excellent addition to all of your endeavors. I have found him to be a capable and patient partner in all manner of shenanigans who complains much less than anybody else at this table. Except you, Hazel’s boyfriend, I don’t really know you, but I’m sure you’re not a complainer. You don’t really look like a complainer. You seem like a nice guy. So: You should also want to work with Nicholas. He’s great.” Elliot, with one eye on the patio entrance, watched Kate enter, followed closely by Nicholas, and said hastily, “The end.”

“The fact that you don’t have Nicholas Power Point slides is really distressing to me,” said Caroline. “Like, have you considered that?”

“Shh,” Elliot said, and flicked one of her parsley garnish pieces back to her.

Nicholas sat down next to Hazel’s boyfriend on the opposite side of the table they’d commandeered.

“Greetings, Denzel,” said Blake to Nicholas, and Elliot took his parsley garnish back from Caroline in order to flick it at Blake instead. Nicholas looked confused, but clearly decided not to ask. Instead, he began, in that Nicholas-y way of his, to be vocally enthusiastic about Jane’s job and then vocally enthusiastic about welcoming Jonah back to Boston and then vocally enthusiastic about Hazel and Jonah’s podcast.

“Yes,” Hazel said. “We’re looking to cast people actually and we were just hearing all about how perfect you’d be.”

Nicholas looked surprised. “How perfect _I’d_ be?”

“Yes, Elliot was just being very persuasive about how you ought to be considered for a role.”

Nicholas looked across at Elliot, a _did we have a discussion about this particular part of your scheme_ look. “Was he?” he said drily.

Luckily Elliot had been hoarding Nicholas's beer just so that he could slide it across the table at that precise moment, just so that he could say beatifically, “Look, I got you a drink. You, too, Kate.”

Nicholas took his glass and gave Elliot another wry look and then turned back to Hazel. “So tell me about this podcast, then.”

***

“You’re wrong, though,” Elliot said to Nicholas. “You’re just absolutely wrong about that. You never choose the right people to fuck in Fuck Marry Kill. You’re like the worst at this game.”

“Okay,” said Nicholas, “you’re one to talk, you’ve made up your own Fuck Marry Kill rules.”

“They’re express play rules,” said Elliot.

“Second of all, you can’t be bad at this game,” Nicholas said to him. “It’s entirely a game about _opinions_.”

“Yeah, and you have all the wrong opinions. Jane, tell Nicholas that it’s never the right choice to fuck Cardinal Richelieu.”

“Richelieu was a powerful guy,” said Jane. “I bet he would have been good in bed.”

“But he was the original ‘pen is mightier than the sword’ guy!” Elliot said indignantly.

“But which phallic figure is meant to stand in for the penis there?” Jane asked. “It could be the pen.”

“It’s definitely the pen,” said Nicholas. “Because Richelieu’s whole thing is dominance over D’Artagnan. The swordy guy.”

“Why does Cardinal Richelieu come up in your Fuck Marry Kill games so often?” Caroline asked. “Like, seriously, you, Elliot, have a weird fixation on fucking Cardinal Richelieu. You bring him up _every time_.”

“Right, but _I’m_ not the one who always wants to fuck Cardinal Richelieu,” Elliot protested. “Nicholas—”

“Nicholas would love to get involved in yet another debate about fucking Cardinal Richelieu,” said Nicholas, “which, Caroline’s right, you are weirdly fixated on that—”

“ _Thank_ you,” said Caroline.

“—but Nicholas needs to go home and go to bed and also Nicholas would like to talk to his friend Elliot about certain events of the evening,” finished Nicholas.  

“Why are we all third people in that statement?” Elliot asked.

“I don’t know,” Nicholas admitted, throwing some cash on the table and standing. “I felt like I started in the third person and then I had to commit to it. Are you coming with me?”

Ordinarily, the answer would have been an automatic yes, but if Elliot didn’t go home with Nicholas, he could avoid having a conversation about Nicholas’s new impending podcast stardom until at least the following day, when Nicholas might have gotten used to the idea and realized he loved it. “I don’t think so,” he said innocently.

Nicholas gave him a sardonic look. “Coward. I’m going to text you about it.”

“Are you calling it a night?” asked Jonah, looking up from where Blake had had him monopolized in conversation for a while now.

“Yes,” Nicholas confirmed.

“We could split a car,” offered Jonah. “Are we going the same way?”

“Possibly,” said Nicholas, shrugging on one of his omnipresent blazers. “Where do you live again?”

Elliot didn’t hear Jonah’s reply, because Jonah had already moved closer to Nicholas to say it and the bar was loud enough that it got swallowed up.

Elliot did hear Nicholas say, “Oh, yeah,” and then Nicholas looked up again, back in Elliot’s direction, to say, “Jane! Who’s in charge of your going-away party?”

“Who do you think?” asked Jane, and artfully tousled Elliot’s hair for him.

Nicholas grinned and winked at Elliot and then said a general good-bye, and everyone else said general good-byes in response, and Elliot watched Nicholas and Jonah walk out of the bar together, heads bent close together in conversation, and Jonah said something that made Nicholas laugh, and Elliot decided abruptly, “You know what? On second thought. I should go, too.”

Jane and Caroline both looked like they thought he was hilarious for some reason. Blake looked dejected for some reason. Hazel and Hazel’s boyfriend looked generally disinterested, and Kate generally confused, for some reason. And Elliot didn’t care about any of these reasons.  

“Of course,” Jane said, like Elliot was predictable, which he really, really wasn’t.

Elliot threw some money on the table and said to her, “I am planning your party. It’s going to be epic.” He kissed her cheek. “Probably karaoke at the Hong Kong is going to be involved.”

“Old-school!” squealed Caroline happily.

“Not to be picky, but not the Hong Kong, you know they don’t have Gackt,” said Jane, “and I can’t say goodbye to karaoke in this town without him.”

“Gackt you shall have,” Elliot said. “Hazel’s boyfriend, it was nice to meet you.”

“We’ve met before,” said Hazel’s boyfriend.

“Right,” agreed Elliot vaguely. “Nice to meet you again. Hazel, your podcast sounds fantastic.”

“Really?” said Hazel.

“Absolutely,” said Elliot, and then definitely did not run out the door to make sure he caught Nicholas and Jonah before their Lyft arrived.

Nicholas and Jonah were standing directly next to the door, Nicholas smoking a cigarette, and they both looked up in surprise when Elliot came barreling out onto the sidewalk.

“Hello,” Jonah said, faintly confused.

Nicholas took a drag on his cigarette and watched him with fond, amusing, knowing eyes.

Elliot said, “Hi,” in response to Jonah and looked back at Nicholas, who looked expectant. “I, uh, need to go back to your place because I left my...something...there.”

“You left something at my place,” repeated Nicholas drily. “You leave _everything_ at my place.”

“Right, but this I need. It’s, like, my tablet, probably. Yes. That’s what it is. My tablet. I need it. For work. My very important work. I’m a business analyst,” he told Jonah, because that always sounded impressive to people.

“I know,” said Jonah, “and I’ve never understood what that means.”

“It’s the client-facing side of product development,” Elliot said, making sure that the dollop of snideness in his voice implied that he was weary of being asked that question dozens of times by impertinent assholes who couldn’t do a basic Google search before their tedious small-talk.  

“I’m not sure I understand what that means, either,” Jonah rejoined, smooth and clearly unaffected by Elliot’s longsuffering. “I guess my product has always been fully developed.”

“Are you coming to my place to get your tablet?” asked Nicholas over Elliot’s inaudible splutter, sounding a little amused and a little something Elliot couldn’t place.

“Yes,” said Elliot, as the Lyft pulled up. “That’s what I’m doing.”

“Good thing there’s room in the Lyft for you,” said Nicholas, and took one last drag on his cigarette before dropping it to the sidewalk and snuffing it out with his wingtips. Unlike Jane, Elliot had never wondered why Nicholas didn’t vape.

Elliot and Nicholas took the backseat. Nicholas smelled like the cigarette he’d just smoked, which made Elliot weirdly nostalgic for every other April night they’d ever spent drinking together, the air crisp and cool around them and Nicholas, mischievously blowing cigarette smoke in Elliot’s direction. Jonah sat in the front seat, and the thing was that Elliot knew that he had been a part of so many of those April nights drinking — that he must have been; Elliot could recall him sharing anecdotes with all the rest of them, with Evan and Anna and Caroline and Hazel and Blake. Except that Elliot had a much harder time placing Jonah within those memories; mostly he just remembered Nicholas, outlined against the dusk, embers against his lips.

Jonah was one of those people who made conversation with Lyft drivers. He was asking if it had been a busy night.

Elliot glanced at Nicholas, who was watching their Lyft’s route on his phone, because Nicholas was the sort of Lyft passenger who checked, just to make sure, as if he could have planned a better route than the GPS.

The Lyft driver asked something about what Jonah did for a living, and then Jonah said he was an actor, which was a classic Jonah thing to do, because even though it clearly was an opening for the Lyft driver to launch into a spiel about how his mother’s sister’s cousin’s daughter had been an actress on _Melrose Place_ once it also gave Jonah an opportunity to humblebrag that he’d done a few commercials and had just directed a production of _Kismet_. “Living the dream!” the Lyft driver said, and Elliot rolled his eyes and looked out the window, because no one ever said anything but, “Oh,” when he said what he did for a living.

“This is fine,” Jonah said abruptly, out of nowhere, and the Lyft pulled over, and Jonah turned around and said to Nicholas, “You should think about the podcast thing. Youd be good at it.”

“Yeah,” said Nicholas in response. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Jonah looked at Elliot and said, with a smile twitching around his lips, “Good night, Elliot.”

Elliot smiled broadly back. “Good night, Jonah. It was _so_ good to see you again.”

Jonah laughed like Elliot was hilarious—people were constantly thinking Elliot was hilarious, and Elliot _was_ hilarious, but still—and then got out of the car.

Elliot said in confusion, “He lives…?”

“Off the Orange Line, in the South End,” Nicholas said. “We just gave him a ride to the T.”

“Oh,” said Elliot.

“So what’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” said Elliot. “I had a pretty boring day, actually. Worked. That’s it. Then headed out to Deep Ellum.”

“That wasn’t what I meant when I said, ‘what’s up with you,’ Richelieu,” said Nicholas.

Elliot was well aware. “The Richelieu thing,” he said instead, because this was a thing Nicholas did, calling him _Richelieu_ , like it was a cute nickname that made any sense. It _was_ a cute nickname, one of those devastatingly unique things Nicholas only did with Elliot, and Elliot preened a little bit every time Nicholas called him that--him and no one else--and got blank looks from people and got to say smugly, _Oh, it’s a whole thing, you wouldn’t understand_ , because the best aesthetic was having awesome inside jokes with Nicholas _but still_ : the Richelieu thing.

“You mean _your_ Richelieu thing?” said Nicholas mildly.

“Why does everyone think I’m obsessed with Richelieu?” said Elliot. “ _You’re_ the one who always wants to fuck him!”

“I only always want to fuck him because you're always asking me if I want to fuck him!" Nicholas replied. “You definitely have a fixation on Richelieu.”

“So do you,” Elliot retorted intelligently.

“Clever comeback,” Nicholas remarked.

“Is this where we’re going?” asked the Uber driver, and Elliot realized they were stopped in front of Nicholas’s building.

“Yeah,” Elliot and Nicholas said at the same time, and got out their opposite doors.

Nicholas let Elliot in and Ian Purrtis immediately came out of hiding to rub up against their legs in greeting.

“Hello, Ian Purrtis,” Nicholas said. “Have you hidden Elliot’s tablet? It’s very important that he get it.”

“Mrow,” said Ian Purrtis, butting his head against Elliot’s ankle. Elliot picked him up and carried him over to Nicholas's couch, where Elliot’s favorite pillow was conveniently already pre-fluffed and waiting for him.

“Clearly he’ll reveal my tablet when he’s good and ready,” Elliot yawned.

“Which will conveniently be after you’ve been housed and fed and watered at this establishment,” said Nicholas.

“Hey, I offered to help you put a sign up over your door, you’re the one who claims not to be running a hostel.”

“This is a halfway house,” said Nicholas. “We only take in the most wayward youths.”

“That’s me, wayward and destitute.”

“I’m sure your parents would agree,” said Nicholas, and had Elliot been less buzzed and muzzy-headed (that was Mezcal for you) and Ian Purrtis not been purring away against his chest, he might have chosen to be melodramatically stung by the offhanded way Nicholas said it, even though it was clearly a joke. Sometimes the thought of how well Nicholas knew him, of all the leverage he could have used against Elliot if he’d ever wanted, was a frightening thing. Moments like this, when Nicholas accidentally said things he didn’t realize made Elliot wince internally, made him even more aware of the way Nicholas never, ever said such things on purpose.

He was still thinking about that, and being stupidly grateful for all of it—for Nicholas' gentleness and his ever-available comfy couch and his purring cat and the blanket still thrown onto the back of the sofa and the way everything was cozy and comfortable and safe, normal in Nicholas’s apartment--when Nicholas said, “So you’re not gonna tell me what’s up with you lately? Why you’re so fixated on the podcast?”

Elliot shrugged. “It’s really not a big deal,” he said. “I’m just... interested.”

“You’re interested in having me be interested,” said Nicholas.

Elliot said, “I’m always interested in you, D’Artagnan,” because if Nicholas could have cute nicknames, so could Elliot. Elliot made a production out of yawning loudly and turning into Nicholas’s sofa. Ian Purrtis sniffed at being temporarily dislodged but then re-settled himself on Elliot’s lower back.  

Nicholas snorted. “Fine,” he said, but not angrily, and draped the blanket over Elliot’s back, cat and all, and dropped the subject. “Good night,” he said, and went into his own room.

Elliot smiled and snuggled Ian Purrtis and thought how one of the best things about Nicholas was how he dropped subjects uncomplainingly when Elliot didn’t want to talk about them.

******

Elliot woke to a bright apartment that was so entirely silent that he knew instantly he’d slept right through Nicholas leaving for class that morning. He stretched a little bit under his blanket and glanced over at his phone, which he’d tossed on the coffee table the night before and which someone had hooked up to a charger. Nicholas; Elliot assumed Nicholas was the “someone” who had done that.

Elliot reached for his phone, yawning, and Ian Purrtis, seeing him stirring, leaped up onto his stomach to say good morning.

“Hello, Ian Purrtis,” Elliot said, scratching behind his ears, and Ian Purrtis purred and leaned in to the scratch. “Did I miss your owner this morning?”

Elliot swiped open his phone, revealing several texts from that morning from Nicholas.

_You are very sound asleep._

_I left out quality coffee on the kitchen counter for you, you look like you might need it this morning._

_Or this afternoon. Whenever you wake up and deign to grace the world with your business analyzing._

Elliot said to Ian Purrtis, “Does Nicholas think I only drink his quality coffee if he leaves it out for me?”

Ian Purrtis purred. Elliot texted Nicholas back, _Thanks for the coffee_ , and then got distracted before he could think of a sufficiently teasing follow-up by a new incoming from Caroline.

_Thanks for organizing drinks last night, Elliotolas!_ she’d written in their ongoing group text.

_Agreed!_ Hazel texted in response. _It was fun!_ _We should do it more often!_

_We DO do it,_ texted Blake. _We do it WEEKLY, at my house, remember?_

_We’ll do it in conjunction with ~podcast meetings_ , was Hazel’s next text. _Tim’s working on scripts!_  

_PODCAST MEETINGS_ , responded Kate, with a few heart emoji.

Hazel said, _Jane, when are you leaving? Will you miss all the podcast meetings?_

Jane’s text in response read, _Next week. You’ve got a few days to meet with me in person, and then I’ll have to do them virtually_.

_Great!_ came Hazel’s response. _We’ll do it later this week at your place so we can help you move while we discuss_.

“Great,” echoed Elliot, wincing a bit at how sarcastic he sounded. Luckily, Nicholas wasn’t around to roll his eyes and tell him he was being too hard on Hazel. He didn’t intend to be, really. It was just that Hazel’s ideas were... in need of refinement. He’d have to apply himself more diligently if he wanted to convince Hazel of this before the podcast actually went into production. Then again, Hazel was clearly just getting started. He had time.

For now, though, he had more pressing plans to attend to: he had to help Jane pack, and plan her going-away party.

So, careful to pet Ian Purrtis thoroughly before he left, Elliot called for a Lyft and went home.

There was, in truth, nothing wrong with Elliot’s apartment, except that Elliot, mostly because he didn’t feel like fighting with his mother and because frankly he mostly lived with Nicholas anyway, had an apartment over his parents’ garage at his parents’ house in Newton. Why, when Elliot had Nicholas’s warm and cozy and quirky apartment at his disposal, would Elliot spend much time over a garage in a suburb? So it was _fine_ , but Elliot considered his apartment to be more of a place to store supplies that he then raided every so often than a place to actually _live_.

Which was why, upon being dropped off in front his parents’ house by the Lyft, he walked into not his apartment but his parents’ kitchen, where his mother was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a crossword puzzle.

“Elliot,” she said, with vague surprise, like he was an unexpected visitor she hadn’t known was in town.

“Hi,” he said, walking over to kiss her cheek. “23 down is ‘sucrose.’”

She blinked. “How…”

Elliot grinned and found himself a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Nicholas gets the _Globe_. Like an old person. I did that crossword puzzle this morning.”

“Like an old person,” his mother repeated, and held up her newspaper.

“Like an old person and my fabulously youthful mother from whom I need a favor,” said Elliot, sitting opposite her at the table.

“Predictable,” said his mother, with that fond exasperation Elliot was used to.

Elliot said, “Terrible things have happened.”

His mother didn’t look alarmed. “What terrible things?”

“Jane is moving to _California_.”

Now his mother looked alarmed. She gasped and stared at him. “Oh, no. _Really_?”

Elliot nodded glumly. It was, actually, good to be home. Now he could stop pretending to be mature about this whole situation. “She got some stupid job at Google.”

“Oh, dear,” his mother said, appropriately mournful. Elliot moodily contemplated his coffee, convinced he was portraying just the right tragic picture of Noble Son in Need of Comforting. And then she said, “Poor Nicholas.”

Elliot’s head snapped up. “Poor... _Nicholas_?”

“Yes.” His mother sipped her coffee nonchalantly. “I would imagine the brunt of your shenanigans will now fall upon him.”

“First of all,” Elliot said, “that’s not... the _brunt_ of my shenanigans... my shenanigans don’t have _brunt_. And what about poor _me_?”

“And also poor me,” his mother continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Because I really was thinking that you and Jane would give me grandchildren someday, but now I’m not going to want you to move across the country, so I guess I’m giving up on that dream.”

“That,” said Elliot, “was a ridiculous dream. That was a story you made up in your own head that had nothing to do with reality. That’s what that was.”

“Jane is beautiful,” his mother said. “You would have made beautiful children. You’re both so obsessed with aesthetics, I thought eventually you’d come to the logical conclusion that those were two genetic sets that needed to be combined. It was all going to be very practical and probably done in a lab.”

Elliot opened his mouth to protest, and then considered. “Actually, that’s a fair point, I can’t even argue with that.”

His mother gave him a smile, a genuine one, an indication she was through teasing him. “I’m sorry. Are you very upset?”

Elliot sighed. “No,” he said. “Yes. I don’t know. It’s a good opportunity for her. It just sucks for me. Everyone’s leaving.”

“Not everyone. It just feels that way.”

“Maybe. Anyway, my favor has to do with Jane. I’m in charge of her going-away party, and she’s been wanting to go to Pagu. Can you ask Dad if he can get me into Pagu on Friday night?”

“You could ask him yourself,” his mother pointed out.

“Ye-e-e-s,” agreed Elliot, “but I feel like _you’re_ going to be able to do it without getting a lecture about how you should go to law school because being a lawyer is the One True Career.”

“You don’t get that lecture every single time you talk to your father,” his mother said. “And I told you that if you tried to do a better job of explaining your job to him, what it is you do, instead of just saying it’s about _aesthetic_ —”

“But it _is_ about aesthetic,” said Elliot. “Mom, please don’t make me expose myself to the possibility of a lecture about my life choices. I am in a very fragile place right now. I am losing my shenanigans partner, my friends are making some sort of podcast thing that I don’t understand—”

“A podcast?” his mother said.

“It’s _so_ complicated,” Elliot said. “And also, Whole Foods stopped carrying my favorite brand of artisanal coffee. What even is life?”

His mother shook her head. “You’re being ridiculous, but I will ask your father if he can get you and Jane into Pagu on Friday night.”

“Not just me and Jane,” Elliot said. “It’s kind of everyone. I need to get, like, ten people in.”

“Ten people?” his mother said. “You want to get ten people into Pagu on Friday night?”

“Yes,” said Elliot. “Can you make sure to tell Dad it’s for Jane, though? I’m pretty sure he won’t get upset if it’s for Jane.”

His mother sighed. “He’s not going to get you reservations at Pagu for _Jane_ , Elliot, he’s going to get them for _you_.”

“Right,” Elliot said. “Yes. Thank you for this. You are both the best, and I should probably get to work.”

“How’s Nicholas? You didn’t even say. Is he good?”

Elliot’s mother always asked after Nicholas, presumably because she worried about Nicholas since he didn’t live in his parents’ backyard to be periodically fussed over the way Elliot ostensibly did. And maybe because she knew that Nicholas’s parents weren’t the sort of parents to fuss lovingly and instead were the sort who had said hurtful things that had made Nicholas move across the country.

“He’s fine,” Elliot said. “Bracing himself to bear the brunt of my shenanigans.”

And then Elliot headed upstairs to his over-the-garage apartment and went to work.

He lost track of time in a series of emails to clients, and when he looked up it was getting dark and he was supposed to be at Jane’s helping her pack, he’d promised her.

Elliot grabbed clothes together and texted Jane, _Be there soon. Sorry, work stuff_.

Jane texted back, _Work stuff for me, too. Do you want sushi? I’ll pick it up on my way in._

Elliot responded with, _You pick up the sushi, I’ll bring us koshu_.

_Great_ , Jane replied.

Which meant that he had to stop at a liquor store, which meant he might as well grab replacement beer for Nicholas while he was at it, which meant, of course, he might as well drop it off at Nicholas's place.

So he texted Nicholas with _Are you home?_ and received an affirmative response.

Elliot had the Lyft bring him to a liquor store near Nicholas’s and stopped in and bought the wine for Jane and then stood for a very long time in the craft beer section before eventually just buying some at random because who even knew when it came to craft beers. And then he bought a box of crackers, too.

“Here you go,” Elliot said to Nicholas when he got to his apartment and handed across his paper bag of craft beers and crackers. “I really owe you coffee, too.”

“You don’t even really drink my beer,” Nicholas said, amused, as he rifled through the bag. “You hate my beer. You’re a huge snob about my beer.”

“Sorry, you only buy obscure craft beer, and _I’m_ the snob? Anyway, _you_ drink the beer, and that’s what’s important.”

“And crackers?” Nicholas held up the box.

Elliot shrugged. “Kind of like the bagels I’m always stealing from you,” he offered.

“You either don’t know what a bagel is, or you don’t know what a cracker is,” remarked Nicholas, and chose one of the craft beers and opened it. “Well, thank you, as always, for the occasional replenishment of supplies. Are you not coming in?” he asked, because Elliot was still standing in the doorway.

“No, I have to go. I promised Jane I’d help her pack.”

“So you just came here to deliver beer and crackers? Ian Purrtis is going to be devastated.”

“I know,” Elliot said regretfully, because he did know. He looked down at the cat wending his way around his legs, and leaned down and picked him up, saying, “Hello, Ian Purrtis,” and rubbing his nose against the cat’s forehead so that Ian Purrtis would purr in response.  

“Would you like to take my cat to Jane’s _with_ you?” asked Nicholas drily.

“No,” Elliot said, looking at Ian Purrtis. “Well. Maybe.”

“You can’t take my cat to Jane’s with you,” said Nicholas.

“Why don’t I take you instead?” Elliot looked at Nicholas, wondering how wide and pleading and compelling his eyes were, because a night packing with Nicholas was much better than a night packing without Nicholas.

Nicholas opened his mouth, and then closed it again, and looked uncertain, and then said, “This is probably just you and Jane time. Janelliot time. You don’t have much of it coming and you should relish it.”

Nicholas was right. Of course Nicholas was right. And Elliot _did_ want his Janelliot time while he could get it.

Nicholas continued, “Go be emotional about one of your best friends leaving and when you’re done I’ll braid your hair while you cry into your pink drink of choice.”

“My hair’s not long enough to braid,” Elliot said.

“It was metaphorical,” said Nicholas.

***

Jane’s condo in Union Square wasn’t as big as Nicholas's apartment, but it was within walking distance of many of Elliot’s favorite coffee shops and restaurants and bars, not to mention Union Square Donuts, which was Elliot’s preferred hangover food on Sunday mornings.

Elliot was desperately going to miss complaining about the line for doughnuts with Jane, and how loud everyone around them found it necessary to be, and how Boston almost never had reasonable weather to be waiting in line at Union Square Donuts.

Jane, watching Elliot pack up all of her gorgeous Sendan Tokusa dishes, said, “Why do you act as if you’re never going to complain again once I go to California? You are going to be doing plenty of complaining. I guarantee it. You’ll call me just to complain. Complaining is part of your essence.”

“I can’t believe Nicholas thinks I’m going to miss you,” Elliot said. “I’m definitely not going to miss you.”

“Also, you’ll definitely go to Union Square Donuts again.”

Elliot made a face that he hoped said, _Don’t be ridiculous, my life will be devoid of all Union Square Donuts_. “Nicholas is way over on the other side of the city. See these dishes?” Elliot held one up. “I’m going to miss these dishes. Promise me you will never get rid of these dishes without offering them to me first.”

“How much wine have you had?” said Jane. “You can have no more, it all belongs to me.” She lounged back on her white mid-century couch and lit a cigarette.

Elliot said, “Are you going to help me pack at all?”

“No,” responded Jane, gracefully unconcerned. “I’m just going to watch you do it.” She blew a few smoke rings up to the ceiling.

“Really?” said Elliot. “I’m planning your going-away party, I would remind you.”

“And I would remind you that I covered for you that time you thought it was a good idea to list the Eggplant on Airbnb without telling Nicholas or Jonah.”

Elliot sighed. “That _was_ a good idea. It just failed in execution.”

“So often where good ideas go awry.”

“Hey, I’ve gotten better at that,” Elliot protested. “I am _much_ better at executing my schemes these days.”

“If you do say so yourself,” said Jane, sounding amused.

“And I do. I never miss the opportunity to say so myself.”

Jane smiled at him and blew a smoke ring in his direction and said, “Those were the days when you were a little baby hipster schemer. Look how you’ve grown. You definitely wear your hair better.”

“Shut up,” said Elliot good-naturedly.

“Remember when you were going to grow a mustache? You thought you’d be able to dramatically twirl it?”

“I’m going to throw one of these plates at you,” said Elliot.

Jane laughed and laughed on her beautiful white couch, being careful of her cigarette even in her giddiness, because that was Jane for you.

Elliot said reflectively, as he wrapped another dish, “I’m just really going to miss Union Square Donuts.”

Jane, semi-recovered from her mirth, puffed on her cigarette and looked up at the ceiling and said, “Yeah. Me, too.”

And it only made sense, after that, for them to give up on packing altogether in favor of uncovering Jane’s battered copy of Monopoly and they played at being brutal capitalists at each other until late enough that Jane said, “Stay over if you want,” and then crawled into bed.

Elliot texted Nicholas so he would know where he was and not wait up or leave the door unlocked or something: _Crashing at Jane’s_.

Nicholas’s reply was _Good night, Richelieu_ , and Elliot smiled at it and thought that maybe Jane was leaving but Nicholas was still right there.

_***_

Jane’s apartment, being smaller than Nicholas’s, did not have a room dedicated for Elliot to work in, and when Elliot complained about that, Jane told him he was being “preposterous,” and when Elliot pointed out that Nicholas had a dedicated office for Elliot at his place, Jane told him that Nicholas was “even more preposterous, but for different reasons.”

Which meant that Elliot spent the next day working out of Bloc and drinking way too many Doses when Nicholas texted.

_Are you still helping Jane pack?_

Elliot texted back, _I have taken a break to work, but yes. She has too many belongings, and she is terrible at helping._

Nicholas's response was, _I’ll help, I need a study break._

Grinning, Elliot responded, _I’m at Bloc. Meet me here and I’ll get you a Spanish latte in thanks. And then make Jane pay me back for it._

Nicholas's final text read, _I will also need sunglasses in the face of your blinding generosity._

Elliot, smiling ear to ear, put his phone away and ordered another Dose and played a solo game of Does Anyone Around Me Understand Aesthetic, and then went back to work until Nicholas slid into the seat opposite him and said, “Where’s my Spanish latte? Since that’s the only reason I showed up here.”

“It has to wait while I criticize my client’s aesthetic in devastating yet elegant language,” replied Elliot.

“Oh, well, that’s definitely a good cause,” agreed Nicholas.

Elliot finished his email and then said to Nicholas, “Ambiguously polyamorous threesome at your seven o’clock.”

“What?” said Nicholas quizzically, turning back from his contemplation of the coffee shop.

“The only people in this place with any aesthetic sense. I’ve already judged everyone.”

“Of course you have,” said Nicholas.

“I will get your coffee,” said Elliot, and ordered the Spanish latte for Nicholas and then another Dose for himself.

Nicholas said, as they walked to Jane’s, “How many of those have you had today?”

“This is my second,” Elliot lied blithely.

Nicholas rejoined, “I’m sure that’s true. As true as the fact that in class today I sprouted wings.”

“Ha,” said Elliot. “If you sprouted wings, do you think everyone around you would be super-impressed and immediately give you straight A’s?”

Nicholas sighed. “No. I need to borrow some of your elegant yet devastating language to use on my professors, I think.”

“Well, it’s always at your disposal,” Elliot offered.

“Best used to criticize their aesthetic?” Nicholas guessed.

“Kind of, yeah,” said Elliot. “Probably not so useful for you. Not all that excelling at anatomy tests or whatever. Sorry about that.”

He let them into Jane’s apartment, where Nicholas surveyed the three boxes stacked in the middle of the living room and said, after a moment, “Is this all you packed?”

“Well, they’re dishes,” Elliot defended himself. “They had to be well-wrapped. So they wouldn’t break.”

“It’s a good thing I offered to help,” Nicholas remarked. “You are in dire straits here. This is so serious I might have to take off my blazer and roll up my sleeves.”

“Well, the combination of your lack-of-blazer determination and Jane’s being out for going-away drinks with her work friends should conspire to make us very productive,” Elliot decided optimistically.

An hour later, though, Nicholas sat back and said, “No, seriously, I blame you for encouraging Jane to collect brandy snifters. Nobody needs this many brandy snifters.”

“Everybody needs this many brandy snifters,” Elliot said. “I worry for you that you don’t have this many brandy snifters.”

“We have, like, ten friends. When are any of us having a party that would require dozens of brandy snifters?”

“This is a failure of our parties, and I’m ashamed of it,” said Elliot, as the door to the apartment opened and Jane called out, very loudly and happily, “Elliot!”

“She sounds drunk,” Nicholas murmured, amused. “The drinks must have been good.”

“In the kitchen,” Elliot called back. “Packing your brandy snifters.”

Jane rounded the corner into the kitchen and said, “Elliot. Oh, and Nicholas.”

“Hi, Jane,” Nicholas said to her.

“Look who I found while I was out and convinced to rope into helping,” said Jane, and then said, “Ta-da!” dramatically.

There was a moment of silence.

“Who?” said Elliot, confused.

“Oh, you can’t see them,” Jane realized. “Hazel! Tim! Come over here! It’s Hazel and Tim.”

“Oh,” Elliot said, annoyed this his Jelliot-plus-Nicholas time had now been crashed. “Hi, Hazel. And Hazel’s boyfriend.” Elliot looked at Nicholas. “Have you met Hazel’s boyfriend?”

Nicholas gave him a weird look. “Tim, yeah, we’ve met.”

“Like, _a lot_ of times, Elliot,” said Hazel, sounding extra-exasperated. Like, Hazel needed to learn how to not _start out_ with an exasperation level dialed up to eleven.

“Okay,” Elliot said. “I was just checking.”

Jane said, “Nicholas, you are helping to pack and that makes you _the best_ ,” and gave him a tipsy half-hug, since Nicholas was sitting on the floor.

Nicholas said, “Thank you. Drinks were good, I take it?”

“I am also helping to pack,” Elliot pointed out.

Jane replied, “Guess why Hazel and Tim are here!”

Elliot had been expecting a reply along the lines of _You are also the best, Elliot_ so he frowned at Jane and maybe responded a little sulkily. “They’re going to help pack, too?”

“No!” proclaimed Jane excitedly. She was really decently drunk, thought Elliot, who felt certain her level of enthusiasm for Hazel-related shenanigans would not be nearly as high otherwise. “I mean, yes, a little but also they have a _script_. An entire draft.”

“Oh, right!” said Elliot, with exaggerated delight, as if he could ever somehow manage to forget the podcast that was now the focal point of all things. “The podcast! I almost forgot!”

Hazel turned to Jane, who half-tilted into her and gave her a hug. “You know,” Hazel said, hugging back with a reluctance that caused Elliot to narrow his eyes in her general vicinity, because Jane hugs weren’t something at which one looked askance even if they were doled out under intoxication. “Maybe we should come back later.”

“No!” said Jane in apparent horror. “No, your podcast!” She tugged Hazel over onto the white couch and sank down on it, pulling Hazel down next to her. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

“So you have a whole script now?” Elliot said, because clearly what needed to happen was he needed to get ahold of this script so that he could fix all the things that would inevitably be wrong with it.

“Yeah,” said Hazel, looking between Nicholas and Elliot and rubbing her forehead. “I mean, Tim wrote most of it — wait til you hear it, I think it’s brilliant — but when we add in Jane’s production design and the sound editing I think it could be really special.”

“You’re so right,” said Nicholas, as unfailingly polite as always, “and I really can’t wait to hear what you come up with. I’m sure you’re going to make a spectacular podcast.”

He spoke about it as if he wasn’t going to be _in the podcast_. As if he wasn’t, if Elliot had anything to say about it, going to be the _fucking star_ of this podcast. Elliot looked at Nicholas, still calmly wrapping brandy snifters, and said thoughtfully, “You know what? Wouldn’t this be a great opportunity to hear Nicholas read for you?” Because Nicholas came alive when he read through roles. Elliot had seen it happen. Nicholas was going to _wow_ Hazel and Hazel’s boyfriend and remember how brilliant he was at this.

Nicholas looked up from his brandy snifter, a little alarmed.

“Only if you want, Nicholas,” Hazel said. “Even if it’s just to help us out tonight—I mean I know you’re busy. But it might help us out to see what it sounds like in someone else’s voice, for a change.”

“Nicholas can read,” Jane said, “if Nicholas puts a towel down on whatever seat he chooses so he doesn’t get cat hair all over my couch.”

“Ian Purrtis,” Elliot said, grabbing at the nearest piece of fabric he could find, which happened to be a pashmina Jane used as a teapot wrap because she said she wouldn’t allow anything in her house called a “cozy.” “The cat’s name is Ian Purrtis, and his hair isn’t causing any problems at all—sit on this, Nicholas—”

“We can just—” Nicholas began, as Elliot basically shoved Nicholas up and over to the couch.

Elliot pulled Nicholas down onto the pashmaina and said hastily, before Nicholas could protest anymore, “So, Hazel and Hazel’s boyfriend, tell us: What’s the storyline so far?”

“Well,” said Hazel. “You really want to hear it?”

They enthusiastically chorused, “Yes!” but Hazel was looking at Elliot.

“Wait,” said Elliot. “Never mind. Don’t tell us. Let us read it for ourselves.” He fixed his blinding beaming smile on Hazel’s boyfriend, who had seated himself on the floor in the opposite corner of the room. “We can all read for you!”

“Oh my god, _yes_ ,” said Jane. “Drunk podcast reading party, this is the best idea.”

_Obviously_ , thought Elliot, _I always have the best ideas_.

Nicholas was giving him a look that made Elliot wonder briefly if Nicholas could read his mind.

“Are you sure?” said Hazel. “Even if not everyone is drunk?”

“Oh my god,” said Jane. “Nicholas, unpack those brandy snifters right now.”

“Ha,” said Elliot.

The name of Hazel’s podcast was _Time Ravel_ , because apparently it was a time travel podcast. Hazel and Hazel’s boyfriend were mostly vague on the details beyond “time travel podcast.”  The idea was that time travel could allow a small set of fixed characters to move through time—though Hazel was adamant that there be no space travel or alternate universe stuff, because her podcast was not going to draw comparisons to _Doctor Who_. The time travel conceit would, presumably, allow them to tell all kinds of episodic stories, which was how Hazel had come up with her description of a queer Southern Gothic Regency romance, or whatever.

Elliot duly put his skepticism on hold for the reading of this first draft. Set in a dystopian future where global warming had melted all of the polar icecaps, the main character was a mild-mannered man named Sebastian Yates who ran a bookshop and informal lending library in the middle of a corrupt city somewhere in the new human settlement of Antarctica.

The worldbuilding was interesting, Elliot thought: the dystopia was one built solidly along fascist principles, with literal walls dividing parts of the settlement, which was basically in floating isolation. The world at large was apparently more fascist than ever; Sebastian had moved to Antarctica hoping to find a refuge but his books were considered both as threatening and as valuable there as they had been everywhere else. Sebastian’s bookshop, so listeners learned in the opening segment, was frequently the subject of police raids, but so far they’d never been able to prove that he was part of the resistance, even though he totally was. So far he had kept up the pretense of being a shy, obedient citizen who kept his head down, but the stress of painstakingly planning and evaluating his every move was wearing on him. Even getting caught selling a banned book could land him in prison for life, provided the vigilantes didn’t get to him first. But, at the same time, Sebastian was unwilling to relinquish his place in the resistance, unable to resist sharing the beauty of his beloved banned books—of all of his books, of knowledge in general—with the people around him. Sebastian was, it seemed, almost an accidental revolutionary. Sebastian just loved books, and books happened to be rare and thus extra powerful in his society, and so he was at the center of more intrigue than he would have had to bear at any other point in history.

Hazel said, “Probably Jonah’s going to end up playing Sebastian--I mean, he is the heart of the whole story--so Nicholas if you maybe want to give one of the side characters a try. There’s a Mysterious Man who--”

“I’ll read Sebastian,” Nicholas said, and Elliot could read him transparently: If Nicholas read the already-cast part, Nicholas considered it less likely he was going to end up with the starring role of this podcast.

Nicholas was wrong. Nicholas was always _monumentally wrong_ about what a good actor he was, about how compelling he was, and Sebastian, from the description they’d received, was a spot-on Nicholas character. Nicholas was going to take this seemingly shy, mild-mannered bookworm and turn him into the world’s most charismatic revolutionary with zero effort. Elliot knew Nicholas, and Elliot knew how persuasive and affecting Nicholas could be, and Elliot knew Nicholas severely underestimated his own abilities, always. Sometimes it manifested in doubting what a brilliant doctor he was going to be--and Elliot was good at combatting those moments--and sometimes it manifested in doubting he was going to blow audiences away.

It was one of Elliot’s perpetual shenanigans, making Nicholas see himself the way the rest of the world saw Nicholas.

And on this podcast reading night, Elliot didn’t have to do a single thing to get everything to fall into place. Because Nicholas did everything himself. Nicholas was, naturally, brilliant. From the moment Nicholas, in his halting, uncertain voice, began reading Sebastian’s lines, it was obvious to Elliot that Nicholas would make this character the heart of the entire show. Nicholas brought Sebastian to beleaguered, world-weary life, the perfect mix of snark and cynicism and deep-rooted hope. The more he read, the more transfixed everyone grew, even without the benefit of Jane’s liquor cabinet.

One night, a mysterious man with a rugged jawline, a vaguely Shakespearean accent, and a patchwork vaudevillian coat entered Sebastian’s shop and asked for his help storing and distributing an object which the man claimed to have transported straight from the late 21st century. It was a copy of Antarctica’s first constitutional charter, all authentic copies of which had been burned or lost during the uprising that led to the authoritarian regime Antarctica was currently suffering under. Sebastian, seduced by this story, as improbable as it seemed, agreed. But of course, nothing was ever that simple.

Hazel’s boyfriend suggested that Elliot read the part of the time-traveling vaudevillian (who was currently called the Mysterious Man), because it was apparently the kind of intriguing character who initially seems to be needed for one episode only, but who later turns out to be the focal character of the series.

Hazel’s plan was that Sebastian and the Mysterious Man would become a crime-fighting duo together, a Sherlock Holmes and John Watson in the dystopian future, a murder mystery cozy in a bookstore in New Antarctica. But as soon as he started reading, Elliot became aware that Hazel’s plan was all wrong. Hazel’s boyfriend had obviously written this first episode as the beginning of a love story between Sebastian and the Mysterious Man. The Mysterious Man, with his dash and verve and joyful, adventurous exuberance, was clearly seductive to the world-weary, cautious Sebastian. And Sebastian, measured and practical, was clearly the steadying balance that the whirligig Mysterious Man needed. Together they were clearly a much better team than either one of them could be on their own. The Mysterious Man was much more effective in meeting his goals with Sebastian’s pragmatic nudges, and Sebastian’s latent optimism blossomed under the Mysterious Man’s teasing encouragement. The time travel, the dystopia, the social message, all that was clearly just a pretext for the romance. Sebastian and the Mysterious Man didn’t fight crime together because they were good at it; they were fighting crime together because they were in love with each other. The Mysterious Man, with all of time to choose from, kept coming back again and again to Sebastian’s ramshackle, threat-covered bookstore, ensconcing himself in Sebastian’s piles of books, and coaxing Sebastian out for another adventure. The only reason it made sense was if the Mysterious Man actually was in love with Sebastian, and vice versa.  

And Nicholas—Nicholas sold it. People who weren’t Elliot tended to forget how good an actor Nicholas had been back in college, but having directed him, worked alongside of him for hours as he put everything he had on stage, Elliot could never have forgotten. Elliot had long thought that had it not been for Nicholas’s anxiety and stage fright, which often made him struggle to remember his lines, he could have been a professional alongside Jonah and Evan and Blake. He was better than all of them. And with a scripted podcast, he wouldn’t have to remember his lines for a live audience—he’d just have to be believable. And he was. Sebastian’s vulnerability and downtrodden exhaustion came through in the tired edges of his voice. When he first began his tentative flirtation with the Mysterious Man, there was deep cynicism in every line delivery, gradually imbued with more and more hope as they ran through whatever time-travel adventures Hazel’s boyfriend had written. Elliot wasn’t really paying attention to the plot. The catch in Nicholas’s voice when Sebastian rescued the Mysterious Man from a group of angry 21st-century book-burners—that, that had Elliot transfixed.

By the end, when the Mysterious Man disappeared back into the night, leaving Sebastian with a single kiss and not even a name, Elliot was convinced.

“This is extraordinarily compelling,” he told Hazel into the breathless hush that followed Nicholas’s last heart-clenching voice-over. “People will love it. And it has to be Nicholas.”

“Aw, shucks,” said Nicholas. “You weren’t too bad yourself.”

Elliot waved away the compliment and pressed his advantage to Hazel, who was contemplating the script, then Nicholas. “They’ll love him. And this story between Sebastian and the Mysterious Man? It’s great, it’s perfect. You’ll have instant fans. They will ship Sebastian and the Mysterious Man instantly. It’s the hook you need to stand out from just being one of a million mystery podcasts.”

“Ooh,” said Jane to Hazel. “I love that. Don’t you love that?”

“So instead of a mystery podcast,” said Hazel’s boyfriend from the corner of the room, “you’re saying this is really a love story between Sebastian and the Mysterious Man.”

“Well, yeah,” said Elliot. “I mean, they’re obviously in love with each other, aren’t they?””

“Are they?” said Hazel, frowning. “That wasn’t really what we’d intended.”

“Hazel,” said Elliot, trying to be patient, but really, how could Hazel be so clueless about her own creation. “The Mysterious Man is _obviously_ completely besotted with Sebastian. Why does he keep coming back? Sebastian isn’t that great a detective. Especially not when you have all of time to choose your detective from. And obviously Sebastian feels the same way about the Mysterious Man. Sebastian’s got this exhausting, demanding life that’s all about doing good, and then the Mysterious Man dashes in and takes him out for some fun. Of _course_ this is a love story. It’s the only way it makes sense.”

“Yeah, but the Mysterious Man,” said Hazel, “he’s more of, like, a metaphysical concept. He’s a time traveler. Would he really be so susceptible to... _Sebastian_? I mean, Sebastian’s just a simple, straightforward--”

“Have you ever even thought about Sebastian?!” exclaimed Elliot. “Sebastian is anything but simple and straightforward. Didn’t you listen to Nicholas? Sebastian is _everything_. Sebastian is exactly what an adventurer like the Mysterious Man needs: this steady, leveling influence with this dedication to this particular time and place, to not flitting off, to staying and being of use. The Mysterious Man has been looking for that. Plus, they make each other laugh. They flirt and banter. This is an epic romance. This is a story of profound love in a time of crisis. Sebastian is obviously your, like, Laura waiting for Doctor Zhivago, Ilsa pining for Rick, Keira waiting for James McAvoy.” (This got him several blank looks, but he ignored it, because if none of them would admit to having seen _Atonement_ then he certainly wasn’t going to be the first.)

“Or like your Samwise to time-traveling Frodo,” inserted Nicholas.

“Exactly,” said Elliot, because he never knew what Nicholas’s geek lexicon meant but it always resonated with Hazel.

“Oh em gee,” said drunk Jane. “He’s like Paul Walker falling for Vin Diesel in _Fast and the Furious_.” Elliot gave her a look. “What? He totally is. First Brian’s all, I have to be a noble law-abiding citizen and turn you in to the authorities, but by the time Dominic is through taking him for a ride, he’s like, jack me a piece of that sports car and set me up with your sister, bro.”

“The point,” said Elliot, narrowing his eyes. “The point is that your listeners are going to instantly be invested in _this_ story, this romance.”

“You know, Elliot,” mused Hazel’s boyfriend thoughtfully, “I think you’re right. I think this _is_ an epic love story.”

Elliot had the uncomfortable feeling of being told he was absolutely right and yet suddenly being unsure what he had been absolutely right _about_. It wasn’t a feeling Elliot had really ever experienced before, and it disconcerted him. What the hell, Hazel’s boyfriend, thought Elliot, and said, a little suspiciously, “Right. Yes. Exactly.”

“I can work with that idea if you like it, Hazel,” said Hazel’s boyfriend.

“Hmm,” said Hazel. “Well, it does seem a bit more ambitious than what we originally had in mind...” She looked up at Nicholas, smiling. “You were amazing, though. Would you be into the part if we wrote it for you? I mean, I know you’re busy with school and all.”

Elliot tried not to be nervous. Elliot tried not to sway Nicholas with puppy-dog eyes or a well-placed pout. Elliot tried to just sit and let Nicholas decide.

And Nicholas said slowly, “Actually. This was...fun. More fun than I’d remembered it being. Sebastian’s kind of great. And hearing Elliot describe him...Every med school student needs a break sometimes, right?” Nicholas grinned. His grin was open and happy, and Elliot congratulated himself on making Nicholas get back on the acting horse; he’d obviously been away far too long.

“That’s great!” said Hazel, and Elliot congratulated himself on single-handedly saving Hazel’s podcast.

“But I don’t want to step on Jonah’s toes,” Nicholas said.

“Are you kidding?” said Hazel. “The way Elliot just described the whole thing, Jonah can obviously play the Mysterious Man,” and Elliot congratulated himself on single-handedly fucking up his own life better than anyone else ever could.

***

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this,” said Nicholas for the umpteenth time since the ride back to his place. “It’s just Jonah, he’s a professional, he’ll be fine.”

“He’ll be—he’ll be all _Jonah_ -y,” Elliot spluttered, and did a handwavey thing that failed to encompass everything that was annoyingly Jonah-y about Jonah.

“Okay,” said Nicholas, going to his fridge and breaking out one of his gift craft beers. He offered one to Elliot as a perfunctory gesture. “If you don’t want me to do the podcast, I won’t do the podcast.”

“Wait,” Elliot said, shaking his head at the beer. “What? Of course you should do the podcast. I didn’t mean—I’m just saying—”

“No, I probably shouldn’t do it. You’re right. So. No podcast. Thanks for scheming to get me to read for them, sorry your shenanigan is all for naught.”

“Okay,” said Elliot, confused about the direction this conversation had abruptly taken. “Are you angry about the podcast thing?” Elliot asked, because they might as well get it over with if they were going to have a fight about that. They didn’t fight often and Elliot hated it and if they were going to fight, he wanted to get it in the past as quickly as possible instead of have it looming in front of them.

“Do I seem angry about the podcast thing?” Nicholas asked calmly.

“No,” said Elliot, “you seem... I don’t know, about the podcast thing.”

“Because I’m surprised. Because _you_ were the one who wanted to be involved in this podcast. I have no burning desire to be part of this podcast. I was going to do a bit part, if asked, and happily listen to it, and tweet about it, or whatever, and now you’ve suddenly got Hazel and Tim asking me if can commit to one rehearsal and one recording a week. Like, what?”

“Well, you _should_ have a burning desire to be on the podcast,” he said, which was pointing out the obvious but this was Nicholas for you: no self-knowledge at all. “You’d be so good at it. Honestly, you were fucking _amazing_ tonight. You made Sebastian incredible, you made him come alive, you made him into this complex hero that everyone is going to love so much. You have to be Sebastian.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that you think so, it’s nice of you, but that isn’t exactly the point,” said Nicholas.

“Not the point?” Elliot echoed. “How can it not be the point that you’d be _so good_ at—”

“Elliot, _you_ always think I’m going to be good at things. You cast me as fucking Hickey. Your head is a weird place.”

“You won an award for that,” Elliot pointed out hotly. “I was right to do that.”

“Fine, yes,” snapped Nicholas. “You’re always right, and that’s always the point.”

“You haven’t presented any alternative points,” said Elliot, bewildered.

“I am in med school. Soon, hopefully, I am going to become a doctor, and I am going to be trying to treat sick kids, and their parents are going to be Googling who they should entrust their children’s health to, and they’re going to find me starring in some... genre-defying geeky podcast? Playing the _lead_?”

Elliot considered. “Genre-defying is actually a really nice way to describe it,” he decided. Unlike whatever description Hazel had come up with, that one was actually... marketable.

“So it was fun tonight,” continued Nicholas, as if Elliot hadn’t spoken, “and Sebastian’s great, but this isn’t going to be a thing. I don’t think it _can_ be a thing for me. It’s like I momentarily forgot who I am. This isn’t college larking about anymore.”

Elliot sat heavily on Nicholas's couch and let Ian Purrtis ruin his outfit again with all of his copious cat hair and thought of Nicholas out there trying so hard to save the world and sighed.

There was a long enough silence that when Nicholas next spoke, he seemed to have decided the podcast discussion was over. “Well, I have to go to bed,” Nicholas said. “So I suppose I’ll either see you in the morning.”

“Yeah,” agreed Elliot, and then suddenly, “You shouldn’t have to…”

Nicholas paused on his way out of the living room, looked back at Elliot, waited for the rest of the sentence.

“A shenanigan or two doesn’t mean you’re a bad doctor. You shouldn’t have to become a different person,” Elliot finished. “To be who you are.”

Nicholas smiled at him, a small, sad smile Elliot decidedly didn’t like. “Everybody in the universe gets up and does it, on a daily basis.”

“Yeah,” said Elliot, “until the different person you become turns into the person you _are_.”

“Yeah, but wasn’t that person you from the very beginning?” asked Nicholas. “And weren’t you, on some level, that person?”

Elliot frowned. He said, “Fuck this conversation. Let’s just play Fuck Marry Kill instead.”

Nicholas’s smile widened a bit. “Ah, we’ve reached that point in the evening, have we? I’d still fuck Richelieu.”

“I don’t always choose Cardinal Richelieu!” Elliot called down the hallway after Nicholas.

“You do always choose Cardinal Richelieu, good night!” Nicholas called back cheerfully, and closed his bedroom door.

Elliot slumped sideways on the couch, letting Ian Purrtis curl up on his chest, and closed his eyes. Street noises drifted up to him, and drowsiness made him feel a bit dizzy, a bit tilted, and he fell asleep thinking, _Become a different person…_

***

The next morning was a Wednesday, and Nicholas didn’t have school on Wednesday mornings, which meant that he was leaning against the counter, bright-eyed and far too alert, coffee wafting away, when Elliot woke up and padded into the kitchen.

“Made your favorite,” he said, watching in amusement as Elliot gulped it down.

“Thanks,” said Elliot. “Clearly I find tackling the philosophical tangle of making You and Not-You a podcast star very exhausting.”

Nicholas snorted. “I’m not going to become a podcast star, Mama Rose.”

Elliot lifted his eyebrows. “Mama Rose? That’s really what you decided to go with?”

Nicholas laughed and looked mildly embarrassed. “First thing that came to mind. It’s still early in the day, remember?”

“The first thing that came to mind was to call me your _mother_? Freud would have a field day.”

“And now I’m going to go do some homework before you tell me I’ve gotta get a gimmick,” said Nicholas.

Elliot took a long drink of his coffee and said grandly, “Everything’s coming up Elliot.”

Nicholas said, in an odd voice, “Trust me, I know.”

Once Nicholas was safely ensconced in Elliot’s office (which, on Wednesday mornings, temporarily turned back into Nicholas's study), Elliot thumbed in a message to the group text. _Jane’s going-away party. Friday. Dinner at Pagu, then make sure you have karaoke songs picked out and ready to go._

Caroline and Hazel and Jonah and Kate all wrote back basically simultaneously, _KARAOKE_.

Nicholas wrote back, _I’m working on Let Me Entertain You_.

Elliot said, “Ha,” out loud, and then texted Nicholas in his office, _Ha_ , for good measure.

Caroline said, _Are you actually going to sing??????_

Nicholas texted back, _No._

Elliot followed up his _Ha_ text with _Tease_.

And then got a private text from Jane. _PAGU?????_

Elliot smiled, because he knew Jane would like that, Jane had been wanting to try Pagu for ages. Multiple question marks were decidedly not in Jane’s aesthetic under normal circumstances. _Well, this might be your last chance_ , Elliot texted her.

_Don’t be maudlin_ , Jane texted back. _I’ll be back. But still. PAGU. Did you ask your father to get us into Pagu?_

_No_ , replied Elliot, _I slept with the maître d'hôtel._

_And it was good enough to get us reservations? Huh._

_It was just good enough_ , Elliot responded. _I’m saving the really spectacular performance for your welcome home party._

And then he felt all verklempt so he invaded Nicholas's workspace to check on the state of his closet. He was running dismally low on clothes. Ian Purrtis, who was ordinarily locked out of the closet because Elliot liked to try to keep his clothes cat-hair-free at least until he put them on, enjoyed the novelty of exploring the closet floor.

Elliot gathered up the pile of dirty clothes and nudged Ian Purrtis back out of the closet with the toe of his shoe. Ian Purrtis meowed his disagreement with this decision and stalked over to Nicholas, tail held aloft, as Elliot re-closed the closet door.

In the kitchen, Elliot stood with his still-mostly-full coffee mug and frowned at the pile of clothes he’d dropped on the counter before calling his mom.

“I am going to the dry cleaner,” he greeted her. “Do you need me to bring anything of yours back from the dry cleaner?”

His mother said, “No, in fact I was headed over there this morning, if you like I’ll stop by Nicholas's and pick them up for you.”

“Excellent,” said Elliot, pleased at how well that had worked out. “I’ll send you flowers.”

“You can skip the flowers and just clean all the cat hair out of my car afterwards,” said his mom.

“His name is Ian Purrtis,” said Elliot. “Why does no one ever say Ian Purrtis’s name?”

“You know, if you wanted a cat, we’d let you have a cat in the apartment.”

“I don’t want a cat.”

“I didn’t know if the cat was the reason you’re constantly at Nicholas's,” his mother said drily.

“Do I seem capable of taking care of a cat to you? Cats are just like humans, with more hair. It’s a little hairy human you have to take care of.”

“When I was your age, I was taking care of a little human. That little human was you.”

“Thank you for clarifying that there was no long-lost secret sibling in my past,” said Elliot.

“I’m just saying,” his mother said. “It can, in fact, be done.”

“Yes,” said Elliot, “and look at how I turned out.”

“Charming and witty and brilliant?” said his mother archly.

Elliot laughed and said, “Yes.”

“That’s just who you became,” his mother said. “You weren’t any of those things when you were a baby. You just became that person.”

“Right,” Elliot said, one hand poised on his coffee mug. “I just...I just became that person.” He said it again, slowly, remembering falling asleep the night before to that half-formed thought. “I became that person. I was that person, but I also wasn’t that person. I was me. But not me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” his mother asked.

“Nothing,” Elliot said. “Nothing. I have to go.” He rang off and practically skipped back to Nicholas's office, where he struck a jaunty cross-legged pose in the doorway.

“You might be onto something, Louise,” he said.

Nicholas looked up from his laptop, then said, “Oh, God.”

“I have the best idea,” said Elliot. “Like, really, the best idea. I’m a genius.”

“I cannot wait to hear,” said Nicholas. “The suspense is unbearable.”

“You should have a secret identity,” Elliot said eagerly.

Nicholas lifted his eyebrows and took a slow sip from his own coffee mug. “I should have a secret identity,” he echoed. “For what purpose? Just for fun?”

Elliot rolled his eyes. “No, for the podcast. You don’t want your future patients to know you did a podcast. Fine. Cool. I get it. So you could be you, and not you.”

There was a moment of silence, then Nicholas said, “A stage name? Are you suggesting I have a stage name? Is your great genius idea that you think you invented _stage names_?”

“Well, when you put it that way,” said Elliot, indignant.

Nicholas sighed, one of those fond-exasperation sighs that genuinely seemed to follow Elliot around. He said, “What is up with you scheming this hard to make me into a podcast star? Why don’t _you_ become a podcast star?”

“Because I’m no good at pretending to be anybody but myself,” Elliot said honestly.

“Yeah, but you’re so _good_ at pretending to be yourself,” said Nicholas.

“You haven’t had a good shenanigan in a while. I think you need a good shenanigan,” said Elliot. “You know how you get, without shenanigans. You know how much you need me to remind you to stop being so serious all the time and have a little bit of fun. And you can’t deny that you had fun last night.”

Nicholas frowned. “Right, but...I mean, yes, it was fun. Of course it was fun. I always have fun with you and you know it.”

“Yes. Because I make things fun. I’ll make this podcast fun, too.” Elliot picked up Ian Purrtis. “What do you think, Ian Purrtis? Does Nicholas need a good shenanigan? Ian Purrtis says yes, you do.” Elliot turned Ian Purrtis in his arms to face Nicholas.

“Look,” said Nicholas, “we don’t even know how big this thing will be. They might lose steam or get distracted before they get more than another episode or two written.”

“You’re right,” Elliot allowed. “It might all come to nothing. _But_. If they go through with this, we’re agreed: secret identity. I was thinking maybe Chauncey something.”

“No,” said Nicholas. “ _Chauncey_? What the fuck is your brain? Seriously.”

“You named your cat _Ian Purrtis_ ,” Elliot pointed out. “I can’t name you Chauncey?”

“No,” said Nicholas. “You can’t. I’m vetoing Chauncey. If I do this— _if_ —I get veto power over the name.”

“Uh-huh,” agreed Elliot, and nodded obediently, and put Ian Purrtis back down on the floor, and tried not to grin too triumphantly at Nicholas as he said good-bye.

But Nicholas had said _if_ , and when it came to Nicholas saying _if_ to him, Elliot knew that was basically a _when_.

***

Elliot’s mother came by with a huge platter.

Elliot said, “What’s that?”

She said, “Lasagne. I have no idea what you boys eat.”

“We go out,” Elliot said, following his mother into the kitchen.

“Nicholas is going to be a doctor. He can’t eat entirely unhealthy foods cooked in unsanitary conditions.”

“We go to nice places,” Elliot said.

“You don’t know what goes on in restaurant kitchens.”

“Also, what about me? Aren’t you worried about _me_ eating unhealthy foods cooked in unsanitary conditions?”

“Of course I am, but you aren’t in med school and presumably have time to cook yourself a healthy meal if you so desired.”

Elliot made a face.

“Hello, sweet kitty,” his mother said to Ian Purrtis, leaning down to greet him where he was getting cat hair all over her pants.

“Hello,” Nicholas said, coming into the kitchen.

“Nicholas,” she said, and hugged him. “You didn’t have to interrupt your studying on my account.”

“No, no, I was looking for a convenient excuse,” Nicholas said, smiling. “What’s this? Lasagne?”

“Yes. Figured you could _both_ use a home-cooked meal.” His mother grinned at Elliot.

Elliot rolled his eyes and said to Nicholas, “She thinks we don’t eat right.”

“We _don’t_ eat right,” said Nicholas.

“Whose side are you on here?” Elliot asked, as Ian Purrtis leaped to the kitchen counter and then to Elliot’s shoulder, mrowr-ing. “Yes. Thank you, Ian Purrtis. Ian Purrtis and I are always on the same side, presenting a united front.”

“A united front against your clothes,” his mother said. “Speaking of, where is your dry cleaning?”

Elliot retrieved his clothing from its pile on Nicholas’s couch and handed it over to his mother.

“Nicholas, do you have any dry cleaning I can take for you?” she asked.

“I’m good,” he said. “But thank you.”

She turned to Elliot. “Stop by sometime when your father’s home. He misses you. And you’re all set with Pagu.”

“Thanks,” said Elliot awkwardly, and gave his mother a hug and a kiss.

“Silly boy,” she said fondly. “I love you. Bye, Nicholas!”

“Bye,” Nicholas said. “Thank you for the lasagne.”

Elliot closed the door behind his mother and turned back into the living room.

Nicholas, leaning against the kitchen door jamb with his arms crossed, was watching him.

Elliot said, “What?”

“Your dad loves you,” Nicholas said simply. “And you _are_ silly.” And then Nicholas, with a fresh cup of coffee, went back into the study.

And Elliot stood there feeling guilty and yes, silly. Because his dad _did_ love him, and even if maybe his dad didn’t understand his career, it was better than Nicholas’s dad understanding his chosen career while so painfully misunderstanding _him_.

Elliot pulled out his cell phone and after a second texted his father, _Mom told me about Pagu. Thanks._

His dad texted back eventually with, _Anytime_.

***

In Elliot’s head was an entire mental binder full of important information for making Jane’s going-away party a success, not just in wishing Jane _bon voyage_ , but also in making Nicholas so entrenched as the star of Hazel’s podcast that it would be impossible to imagine the podcast without him.

A secondary part of this plan was to come up with some role for Jonah in the podcast that wasn’t _the love of Nicholas’s life_. Like, maybe Nicholas’s tailor or shoe-shine person or...something. Surely Nicholas’s character would need something like that, even in a dystopia. He could still be in every single episode, he just wouldn’t have the opportunity to be _extra_ -Jonah-y in Nicholas’s direction.

Tonight’s Pagu agenda was not to fuck up seeing Jane off; to continue not fucking up Nicholas’s podcast stardom; and to fix the fuck-up of turning Nicholas and Jonah into an epic love story.

Of course, that was the agenda before Elliot saw what Nicholas was wearing.

“That’s what you’re wearing to Pagu?” Elliot said.

Nicholas glanced down at what he was wearing, then said, “Yes.”

  
“Nicholas,” said Elliot, stricken, “this is _Pagu_. This is _more than a restaurant_. _More than an experience_. You can order drinks with names like Omens of Spring and Power of Monks—”

“Do you have the drinks menu memorized? You’re frightening me.”

“—and it’s Jane’s going-away party, and you are wearing _flannel_. _Literal flannel_. I don’t even think you’re wearing it ironically. It’s freaking me out a little.”

“This is freaking you out? My shirt? That’s so funny, since you’re the one freaking _me_ out. So I guess we’re even.”

“You need to at least put a scarf on,” said Elliot.

“A scarf?” echoed Nicholas. “Is it that cold outside?”

“Not that kind of scarf. A statement scarf.”

“Oh, obviously,” said Nicholas. “I’ll just go grab one of my statement scarves out of my closet.”

“Oh, good,” said Elliot. “I’ll wait.”

Nicholas lifted his eyebrows at him.

Elliot read the message of the raised eyebrows expertly. “You don’t have any statement scarves, do you?”

“No, of course I don’t have statement scarves,” said Nicholas. “Do _you_ have statement scarves?”

“No, but I’m not Chauncey,” Elliot pointed out.

“I’m not Chauncey, either,” said Nicholas.

“I feel like Chauncey has statement scarves.”

“I feel like Chauncey isn’t real and so doesn’t have statement scarves or any kind of scarf or any clothing at all.”

“I feel like you’re hurting Chauncey’s feelings right now.”

“Can I get out of this horrific conversational quagmire by offering to change my shirt?”

“Yes,” said Elliot graciously. “Wear white for Jane.”

“You know,” Nicholas grumbled loudly as he walked down the hall, “when you said we should split a Lyft, I didn’t think it was so that you could criticize my clothing first.”

“Silly Nicholas,” Elliot cooed at Ian Purrtis, as he crouched down to give the cat full attention.

“And don’t even think about cuddling with the cat!” Nicholas called from his bedroom. “It will ruin your shirt and we’ll never get out of here.”

Elliot, who had just been about to pick Ian Purrtis up for a quick cuddle, frowned and muttered, “I don’t always cuddle with the cat.”

“You do always cuddle with the cat,” Nicholas said, reappearing in a white button-down and shrugging one of his omnipresent blazers over it. “Fine? Do I pass muster now?”

“Yes,” said Elliot. “Are you bringing your bag?”

“Do I need to bring my bag?”

“I have things I need to put in your bag.” Elliot held up his accoutrements for the rest of the evening.

“What are those things?”

“Surprises for Jane.”

“And why didn’t you bring your own bag so _you_ could carry around the surprises for Jane?”

“Because my bag would have ruined my outfit.”

“And my bag’s not going to ruin mine?”

“I hate to break it to you, Coco Chanel, but you were just wearing _flannel_ , don’t even pretend you care about your outfit, you’re lucky I saved you from an even worse fashion death than this one.”

“There’s no such thing as a fashion death,” said Nicholas, dutifully letting Elliot pile his things into his bag.

“Are you going to order a terrible craft beer at Pagu?” asked Elliot.

“Would that embarrass you?” countered Nicholas.

“ _Yes_ ,” said Elliot fervently.

“Then I am absolutely going to order a terrible craft beer at Pagu,” said Nicholas, and nudged Elliot out of the apartment still whining.

***

Somehow at Pagu Elliot found himself sandwiched between Jane and Hazel’s boyfriend, with Nicholas across from him, flanked by Hazel and _Jonah_. Elliot wasn’t sure how this seating arrangement had happened, but it was the worst seating arrangement in the history of time.

Luckily Blake was sitting on Jonah’s other side and somehow had gotten Jonah engaged on the subject of The Proper Amount of Time to Devote to Rehearsal So As to Appear Polished But Not Scripted, a lecture which Jonah was delivering with fully scripted gusto, but Blake looked very interested.

Nicholas looked over the gorgeous cocktail menu and said to the waiter, “Sorry, can I just have a mojito?” which was _even worse_ than a craft beer, and then Nicholas fucking _winked_ at him like he was adorable, which was clearly the opposite of true.

Then Hazel said, “Oooh, that sounds good, I’ll have a mojito, too,” because _of course_ , Elliot was quickly losing control of this entire evening.

It was Caroline who saved it, from where she was sitting on the other side of Jane, leaning forward and saying with her characteristic dramatic weight, “ _Nicholas_. I have been hearing all about your Sebastian and can I say: I am in love.”

Nicholas gave one of those quick bursts of laughter he always gave when startled by someone suggesting something good about him. In another person, Elliot thought, those little bursts of laughter would have been artifice and guile; when it came to Nicholas, he was genuinely caught off-guard by nice things, no matter how true. He said, “Not really my Sebastian--”

“ _Yes_ ,” insisted Jane and Hazel simultaneously.

“Definitely your Sebastian,” Hazel said.

“I have endless texts from Hazel about how good your Sebastian was,” Caroline said. “And from Jane.”

“I didn’t text Caroline,” said Elliot, now irked at himself for not texting Caroline, “but I third the opinion. You were an excellent Sebastian.” Elliot gave Nicholas a meaningful look that said, _See? It’s not just me who thinks you’re great_.

“So I heard,” said Jonah, unfortunately distracted out of his lecture to give Nicholas one of his very close, piercing, Ac-Tor looks. “Hazel was texting me about coming up with story ideas for our characters before she even left the condo.”

The waiter brought Jonah red wine, because of fucking course Jonah was drinking red wine, and Elliot spent a pleasant moment imagining it all over Jonah’s stupid velvet smoking jacket.

“What’s this?” asked Blake, leaning forward to get into the conversation. “Was there some kind of podcast reading?”

“It wasn’t…” said Nicholas. “It wasn’t really a reading. It wasn’t organized or anything. We were drunk.”

“No one was drunk,” Hazel said.

“I was drunk,” said Jane.

“But it really wasn’t anything organized,” Hazel said. “It was spur of the moment. I mean, Elliot read opposite him, which tells you how spur-of-the-moment it was.”

Elliot was about to be offended, except Hazel’s boyfriend chose that moment to say, “I think this drink is yours, isn’t it?” and there was Elliot’s Mount Tamalpais being handed to him.

Luckily just in time for Elliot to take an enormous gulp, and then another enormous gulp to make up for the shame when Nicholas was brought his mojito.

Jonah said, sounding amused, “Wait, who did you play, Elliot? Did you play Mysterio?” He rolled the “r” in “Mysterio” like he was in some fucking commedia dell’arte play.

And Elliot had to take another enormous gulp of his drink and then he had to order another drink and then he had to say, “Please tell me we’re not calling him Mysterio. And also, why is that funny, that I read for him?”

“It’s not funny,” said Jonah, while also clearly finding it hilarious. He then turned back to Nicholas, somehow managing to angle himself so that Elliot was staring at his profile, cut out. “So what did you think about the characters and their relationship?”

Nicholas looked between Jonah and Elliot and said, after taking a long swig of his mojito, “I thought it was great. Elliot, what do you think about sharing a cheese plate?”

“There’s no way you’re changing the subject,” said Caroline. “There’s no way we’re moving away from you becoming a big, swoony podcast star.”

“Not what’s going to happen,” said Nicholas.

“Well, I, for one, am delighted,” said Jonah, because he lived in a world where people started sentences with _I, for one_. “I think we’ll have fun.”

“Right,” said Nicholas, “I mean, fine, yes, we would, but I’m not actually going to--”

“His stage name is going to be Chauncey,” Elliot announced.

Nicholas gave him a very pointed look as he sipped his mojito. The look said _You are the reason I have to order mojitos._

“ _Chauncey_!” exclaimed Caroline, with a very artful gasp. She held aloft her gorgeous, sparkling drink. It made a very pretty picture and Elliot spared an appreciative moment for Caroline’s unerring sense of aesthetic. “I _love_ that.” Yes, Caroline had excellent taste.

“Who came up with that name?” asked Jane, looking with steady, cool amusement at Elliot.

“It was collaborative,” said Elliot. “It was a collaborative thing.”

“Yeah,” said Nicholas. “The kind of collaboration where Elliot tried to name me _Chauncey_ and I said no.”

“Which obviously means you are about to become famous as Chauncey and there’s nothing you can do about it,” said Jane. “That’s an Elliot kind of collaboration for you.” She toasted him with her gin fizz.

Elliot said, “Thank you, Jane, that’s why you’re my favorite,” and kissed her cheek.

“It wasn’t a compliment,” Jane told him, laughing.

“Yeah, it was,” said Elliot.

“I think Chauncey is a _great_ name,” said Caroline.

“I think I made out with a Chauncey once,” said Jonah, grinning expansively.

“I would totally make out with Chauncey,” said Caroline.

“No, you wouldn’t,” said Nicholas, “because Chauncey is _fictional_.”

“Why does that matter?” demanded Caroline and Elliot at the same time.

“Hey-o!” said Caroline enthusiastically, raising her drink higher over Jane’s head to make it clear it was in Elliot’s direction.

“Exactly!” Elliot said, pleased.

Nicholas said, “There are moments when I don’t understand why the two of you ever broke up.”

Caroline snorted. “ _I_ know exactly why we broke up.”

Elliot said, “Why don’t we not—Hang on, are you taking notes?”

Because he’d abruptly noticed Hazel’s boyfriend was scribbling manically in a Moleskine.

“He’s a writer,” Hazel said. “He’s writing.”

“ _Now_?” said Elliot.

“So.” Jonah propped his elbow on the table and settled his cheek on his fist and said to Nicholas, “We should get together and talk about character interpretations and stuff. Since Hazel tells me we’re now going to have an epic love story.”

“That was Elliot,” said Jane helpfully. “Let’s give credit where it’s due. It’s Elliot who made the brilliant love story suggestion.”

“Oh, did he,” said Jonah, cutting a glance over at Elliot. Elliot toasted him ruefully while Jane continued on.

“Elliot, Our Hopeless Romantic. I capitalized those words in my head.”

“I heard the capitalization,” Elliot said drily. “Thanks for that. So, great, Nicholas will star in the podcast as Chauncey playing Sebastian, why don’t we talk about Jane’s fabulous new job at Google now?”

“Hang on,” said Blake. “I want to know when the podcast auditions happened. I would like to audition for the podcast.”

The waiter said, “Are you ready to order?”

Elliot said, “Please, God, yes, let’s order.”

“Wait,” said Jonah. “I haven’t even looked at the menu yet.”

Elliot gave him a look that he hoped said, _No kidding, because you were too busy ogling Nicholas weirdly_.

From Nicholas’s expression, the look was either extremely comprehensible or extremely _in_ comprehensible. Elliot supposed Nicholas would have frowned at him like that either way.

And then Jane next to Elliot said, “Yeah, we haven’t even coordinated, Elliot, we have to make sure we order the most different things on the menu to maximize this experience.”

Elliot looked from Nicholas to Jane, who was also frowning but at her menu instead of at Elliot, and suddenly remembered that this wasn’t just another evening, that this was the _last_ Jane evening, and Elliot had a lot of time in front of him to fix the snowballing Jonah problem but he didn’t have a lot of time in front of him to order complementary meals with Jane.

So he focused. He gave himself a mental pep talk in which he reminded himself of one of the Goals of Pagu (don’t fuck up seeing Jane off) and turned to Jane and said, “You’re right. What are you thinking?”

He debated with Jane the optimum combination of noodles, sashimi, and croquetas to order between them, and then Elliot vaguely recalled that Nicholas had suggested the cheese plate at some point.

“Did you still want to split the cheese plate?” he asked Nicholas.

“Oh,” said Nicholas. “Is it okay if Jonah shares, too?”

Elliot looked up from the menu and found Nicholas leaning over Jonah’s shoulder to share the menu. He bit back his first three responses to that question, all of which he deemed inappropriate for Jane’s going-away party.

Nicholas lifted his eyebrows at him. “Are you choking? You look like you’re not breathing.”

“I’m just thinking of how wonderful it is that Jonah is also sharing our cheese plate,” said Elliot, and beamed happily at Jonah (at least, he hoped he did). “What a happy world this is, where we all get to share the same cheese plate.”

Jonah blinked at him. “If you’d like the cheese plate all to yourself,” he said cooly, “all you have to do is say so.”

“No, I’m good,” Elliot answered. “I just don’t want us to order more cheese than we can consume, so, you know. I want the cheese to get eaten by...the right person.”

“And that’s... you,” said Jonah, an odd smile playing about his lips. “You alone are the aesthete who can... savor the cheese in the luxurious and decadent manner it deserves?”

Elliot, faced with Jonah’s odd smile and endless knowing amusement, faltered a little, and looked at Nicholas, who also had an odd look on his face. Elliot suddenly wished they’d never started talking about the cheese plate.

Blake said, “Hey, I’d be happy to split a cheese plate, too, so I could share with Jonah.”

Blake was honestly Elliot’s favorite person in the entire universe.

“You guys are all really weirdly obsessed with the cheese plate,” mused Hazel, and said to her boyfriend, “Should we share a cheese plate, too?”

“It’s a metaphor,” said Hazel’s boyfriend, because apparently that was how writers acted over ordering things at restaurants.

Caroline said, “I don’t want to be left out of the metaphorical cheese plate. Jane, should we split a cheese plate?”

“It’s not a metaphor,” Elliot said. “It is a literal plate of cheese.”

“I need a cigarette,” announced Jane, standing. “Order me a cheese plate, too. And the rest that we decided.” She tousled Elliot’s hair on her way past him.

“I’ll join you,” said Nicholas, standing with a last odd look at Elliot.

Sometimes Elliot thought that it had been a terrible life decision of his not to develop a smoking habit. Really, it had been a terrible life decision to get sick on a cigarette in junior high school and to have a lingering visceral reaction to them for apparently the rest of his life. But he couldn’t very well start smoking _now_ , Jane would call it a scheme and Nicholas would get suspicious and fucking all-knowing Jonah would still be in Pagu in his fucking smoking jacket even though he also didn’t smoke.

So Elliot focused on life decisions he could change. He said to Nicholas, “I’m ordering you a respectable drink while you’re gone.”

“Knock yourself out, Hemingway,” Nicholas told him.

***

When Elliot had chosen Pagu, when Elliot had planned out Pagu, he had not been thinking about the stupid podcast. He had been thinking about Jane, and how Jane had really wanted to try Pagu, and how Jane should leave the East Coast on an incredible high, loving everything about it.

Instead, as Jane left for her smoking break, everyone else seemed to devolve into mini-groups, and Elliot looked around him and saw Hazel and Hazel’s boyfriend looking over story notes, Blake asking Jonah more questions about podcast auditioning, and Caroline drawing artsy hearts in her planner around the words ‘Seb <3 MM’ using multiple colored pens.

So he got up to take a restroom break and get some water. He needed to refocus, because this night was about Jane, not the podcast, or Jonah wanting to eat Nicholas's cheese.

He was in line for the all-gender room when he saw Hazel and Jonah get up and go to the bar. And, on the off-chance Jonah might be talking about nefarious debauched designs on Nicholas rather than his usual favorite topic of Himself The Great And Wise Actor, Elliot shifted closer.

“So how are you feeling about everything?” Jonah asked Hazel after putting in their drink orders.

“Oh,” Hazel said, rolling her shoulders. “Fine. You know. I’m just trying to find my center, find the right actors to drive the plot.”

“Oh, sure,” said Jonah. “And you know that you’ll have found them when you have us all read together and see how well we vibe off each other.”

“Yeah?” Hazel beamed. “I love how you just get it, Jonah.”

And these were the conversations that Hazel and Jonah had that he was somehow worried Nicholas would be charmed and enchanted by? Elliot suddenly felt like all of his worrying had been absolutely ridiculous. Of course Nicholas wasn’t going to become fixated on Jonah and his trivia about _cheese_ and his _vibes_.

Jonah leaned in a little and lowered his voice. Elliot shuffled back and then traded places with someone three people behind him in line so he could hear better.

“...not so sure what I think about that idea,” Jonah was saying.

Hazel looked torn. “No, I think she’s just worried,” she said. “You know how he gets. She wants him to have a creative outlet.”

Jonah snorted. “You mean a creative outlet that doesn’t involve constant judging.” She swatted him playfully.

“No, I’m serious,” he said as their drinks came. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. He can be... intensely single-minded and completely unaware of how he comes across.”

“It’ll be fine,” Hazel said. “I just want everybody to get along, you know? And besides, what’s the worst that could happen?” She laughed and gave him a squeeze as they wandered back to the table. “He’s not exactly a Machiavellian mastermind...”

Huh, thought Elliot, processing this. Seemed like things weren’t all roses and sunshine in Hazel-and-Hazel’s-Boyfriend-Land, not if she was basically seeing the podcast as an excuse to babysit him. He thought back to Hazel’s boyfriend and his constant focused scribbling in his moleskine. Maybe Hazel was Concerned about the plans he had for the podcast?

Clearly this was another thing he would have to keep an eye on. But that was good. If Jonah was worried about Hazel’s boyfriend, then maybe Jonah didn’t have time to be extra-Jonah-y in Nicholas’s direction.

Elliot, calmer when Jane and Nicholas returned from their cigarette break, refocused on the original, non-podcast reason for Pagu, said to Jane as she slid into her seat next to him. “I’m hoping you really love it here.”

“So far so good,” Jane told him, with a quick smile. “I can’t wait to try the cheese plate.”

“Are we still talking about cheese plates?” said Elliot. “I really want to get off the cheese plate topic of conversation.”

“Can we talk instead about the time Blake tried to sculpt the Eiffel Tower out of cheese?” said Caroline.

“It was for a _class_ ,” Blake said. “I didn’t just decide to try cheese sculpting.”

“You know,” said Jonah, “I think cheese sculpting is an ancient art.”

“How ancient is cheese?” mused Hazel.

“Cheese is pretty ancient,” said Jonah.

“Oh my _god_ ,” said Elliot, and then, when they turned to him blankly, added, “I mean, _thank_ god, the waiter. Drinks. Nicholas, look, the waiter has your new drink!”

“And... that’s great?” said Nicholas.

“It’s called a Flight to Narita,” Elliot told him helpfully.

“Of course it is,” said Nicholas, looking fondly resigned, which was really possibly Elliot’s most favorite Nicholas look.

And then the food arrived, and everything was incandescently good, even the cheese plates that Elliot had been prepared to despise on principle but actually were delicious. Jane amused him by writing up the Yelp review as they sat at the table eating, and Caroline leaned over to request that they change the word _delectable_ to _toothsome_ because it was sexier, and then they had a debate about which word was really sexier, and if a word that had the word _tooth_ in it could ever be considered truly sexy, and Nicholas said something about good dental hygiene being sexy, and Caroline found some garnish to flick at him.

“So, when’s the karaoke?” asked Caroline. “I was promised karaoke.”

“Yes. Karaoke,” Elliot agreed. “But first I kind of feel like I should say a few words.” He actually hadn’t planned that, but it just seemed suddenly weird to wrap dinner up without toasting Jane.

“A few words?” echoed Nicholas.

“It’s not a wedding,” said Caroline.

“Whose words?” asked Jonah, as if Elliot wasn’t capable of coming up with his own words.

Which solidified in Elliot’s head that he was definitely doing this. “We should have a toast,” he said, and picked up his drink. “I think it would be bad luck to leave without a toast.”

“A toast to what?” asked Caroline.

“To _Jane_ ,” said Elliot. “To…” Now he wished he had thought about this before he’d opened his mouth.

Jane gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Sometimes, Elliot thought, the essence of his friendship with Jane was that he did things in a determined bid to wipe that look off her face. And sometimes he succeeded. Like at this very moment, when he said firmly, “Google is incredibly lucky to have you, and we will miss you every second, but you’re going to be tremendously successful and develop this whole California aesthetic and take up surfing and start eating only green foods and in general you’re basically going to conquer the world and we’ll all get to say we knew you when and all I ask is that you never lower your standards and continue to demand genuine egg whites in all of your gin fizzes.”

Jane no longer looked all-knowing. Jane looked almost tremulous. She looked a level of fond he wasn’t used to seeing so openly on anybody’s face but Nicholas's and it gave him momentary pause. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so successful in surprising Jane before.

She said, “Aww, Elliot. I promise.”

“To Jane,” said Elliot, raising his glass a little higher.

“To Jane,” they chorused around the table, and Jane smiled.

So far, Elliot thought, not fucking up Jane’s send-off was going pretty well.

***

Elliot had thought karaoke at the Hong Kong would balance the Pagu part of the evening. They would do something extravagant and grown-up like eat at one of the city’s It restaurants, and then they would do a college throwback and drink scorpion bowls and sing horrible pop music that they all denied was anywhere near any of their Spotify playlists. It was a gorgeously balanced night out, if he did say so himself.

The one drawback was organizing getting to the Hong Kong, and somehow, because he was worried about Jane, Nicholas took off with Jonah and Blake. He ended up in the same car as Jane and Caroline.

Caroline said, “Please tell me you’re going to sing ‘Genie in a Bottle’ again.”

“Jeez,” said Elliot good-naturedly, “you do that drunkenly one time and everybody assumes you’re going to do it every time.”

“It was a life-changing event, Elliot,” Caroline said solemnly.

“I am fairly sure there are patrons of the Hong Kong that night still talking about it,” added Jane.

“ _Life-changing_ ,” said Caroline.

“I hear that the owners of the Hong Kong now tell customers that if they drink seven scorpion bowls in a row, they might be able to hear the dulcet tones of your rendition of ‘Genie in a Bottle,’ if they listen really, really closely—”

“You guys are hilarious,” said Elliot, as his phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out.

_Your car is slow. Already ordered scorpion bowls and put you down for Genie in a Bottle_.

“What does Nicholas say?” Caroline asked.

“Nothing,” said Elliot, texting, _Better rub me the right way_ , before really thinking it through, and then deciding, fuck it, sending the text, and putting the phone back in his pocket.

“How drunk does Nicholas have to get to sing?” asked Jane.

“Nicholas doesn’t sing,” Elliot said. “I have tried everything I can think of. I have performed _experiments_.”

“It’s true,” Caroline told Jane. “Elliot and I spent that summer you were interning in Seattle trying to devise various drink combinations to get Nicholas to sing at the Hong Kong.”

“Fuck, we spent so much time at the Hong Kong that summer,” said Elliot. “It was pathetic.”

“It was _awesome_. They knew us by name.”

“Elliot’s right,” Jane said. “That’s pathetic.”

Caroline shrugged. “Whatever. They always let us jump the line to sing.”

“So, wait a second,” Jane said, sounding amused. “You two went to the Hong Kong to try to get Nicholas to sing and just ended up singing yourselves?”

“What else was there to do?” Caroline asked. “It was really boring watching Nicholas get drunk and _not sing_.”

“ _Extremely_ boring,” Elliot said. “On the plus side, I am now really excellent at all the words of ‘End of the World as We Know It.’”

“And ‘Genie in a Bottle,’” said Jane.

“That was one time,” said Elliot. “That was seriously _one time_.”

The Hong Kong was typically crowded and loud and someone was singing “Sweet Caroline” badly off-key the way someone was _always_ singing “Sweet Caroline” badly off-key at the Hong Kong and they found the rest of the group when Hazel whistled loudly at them, fingers stuck in her mouth. They were clustered together tightly because of how crowded it was, with an impressive number of scorpion bowls between them.

“Oh, good,” Elliot said, “so we’re set for drinks.”

“Set for drinks,” Nicholas confirmed, and slid a straw in Elliot’s direction.

Jonah sent him one of those weirdly out-of-context serious looks Elliot hated. “I hear you’ve got a genie in a bottle hidden away somewhere,” he said. “Are you going to let it out?”

“Ah,” said Elliot, “No. No one at this table is nearly drunk enough for that to be happening.”

“Must be one very hedonistic pixie,” Jonah said.

“Cheers,” Elliot said. “Drink up, I need to check on something.”

“Mysterious,” said Nicholas.

“Mysterio, even,” said Elliot, rolling the “r” around as dramatically as possible.

Nicholas laughed, that laugh he saved for Elliot and Elliot alone, and Elliot thought the Hong Kong had been a fucking excellent idea, if he did say so himself.

***

He was somehow embroiled in a debate with Hazel on the relative merits of The Smiths versus Neutral Milk Hotel, which, how this was even a conversation they were having, he didn’t know, although it probably had something to do with whatever idiot had decided to sing “There Is a Light That Never Goes Out” at karaoke, and these were, frankly, just the kind of conversations you happened to have at the Hong Kong. Hazel’s boyfriend was paying very close attention to the debate in a way that made Elliot vaguely uncomfortable for no reason he could really put his finger on. He just felt a little bit like every time he looked up, Hazel’s boyfriend was studying him thoughtfully. Maybe this was just how writers looked at people.

“I mean, you’re entitled to your opinion,” Hazel was saying, stirring her drink with her finger like a starlet in a pre-code nightclub scene, “and it’s not as if Morrissey isn’t popular! I just think when you compare his lyrics to Mangum you find such a tighter sense of structure and aesthetic value, while Morrissey is just kind of all over the place—”

“That’s because Mangum was writing his own music to fit his own lyrics,” Elliot was arguing, suddenly invested even though he privately agreed with Hazel and Nicholas was always the one going on about the genius of Moz. “The true mark of genius is when you can set poetry to your own compositions and Johnny fucking Marr’s. Come on, Hazel, you’re the musical geek, you know you can’t have _Follies_ Sondheim without Jule Styne Sondheim.”

“Okay, _I_ am not the musical geek, you’re just in denial—” Hazel began, at the same time Hazel’s boyfriend said, “I have to say I’m surprised you’re not on the pro-Mangum side of this debate.”

“Wait.” Nicholas suddenly appeared, grabbing for Elliot’s hand. “Elliot. Wait. Sorry. Elliot. I have to talk to you.”

“Hey, Nicholas,” said Hazel’s boyfriend. “How do you feel about The Smiths?”

“Greatest band of all time,” Nicholas said promptly.

“Ah,” said Hazel’s boyfriend, and he turned to a new page in his notebook and started scribbling furiously.

“No, wait, second-greatest,” Nicholas said, tapping on the notebook as if he expected Hazel’s boyfriend to write that detail down. “Except for ‘How Soon Is Now,’ that’s the greatest song ever written. Or maybe ‘This Charming Man.’ Or ‘What Difference Does It Make?’ Fuck.”

Elliot looked at him in surprise. “You’re drunk. How many scorpion bowls have you had?”

“I’m a little drunk,” Nicholas said, “and also I need to talk to you, this is very important.”

“Okay,” Elliot agreed, because who was he to deny Nicholas a very important conversation? He let Nicholas tug him away without bothering to try getting the last word in the conversation with Hazel, since Hazel’s boyfriend had already derailed that. Really, his tunnel vision on that notebook was fucking disconcerting.

Nicholas stopped tugging them through the crowd, dropping Elliot’s hand, but didn’t say anything, instead just looking up toward the stage.

Elliot stared at him. “Hey,” he said to get his attention back, mentally doing math about what proportion of each scorpion bowl had been consumed by Nicholas, “did you want to tell me something?”

“Not yet,” Nicholas said. “It’s coming.” He kept his eyes on the stage.

Elliot glanced toward the stage, then back at Nicholas, then said in amazement, “Wait, are you going to sing a song?”

Nicholas laughed. “I don’t sing.”

Elliot glanced at the stage again, where some very drunk woman was finishing up “The Pina Colada Song.” Nicholas seemed disinclined to talk to him now that he’d dragged him aside. Maybe Nicholas had just been rescuing him from Hazel.

And Hazel’s boyfriend. Elliot said, “Hey, do you think maybe Hazel’s boyfriend is, like, attracted to me or something?”

Nicholas finally looked away from the stage. “What?” he said.

“He’s always staring at me,” said Elliot. “Do you think he’s, like, trying to proposition me?”

Nicholas started laughing. Nicholas started laughing so hard he had to slump against the wall to keep himself upright.

“Okay,” Elliot said. “It’s not _that_ funny. People have been known to find me attractive before.”

“Of course they have, it’s not that, it’s just...Hazel’s boyfriend? Is propositioning you by scribbling in his notebook? Do you think he’s writing you sonnets?”

“He could be,” said Elliot.

“You’re so ridiculous,” Nicholas said. “I don’t even know how I _know_ you, sometimes, you’re so ridiculous.” But he said it affectionately, smiling at him warmly, so Elliot was okay with being ridiculous.

“Now this is a bit of a change of pace,” said Jonah’s voice over the microphone, “but I think this is an important song for all of us to take to heart.”

Elliot’s head swiveled away from Nicholas toward the stage. “Oh, no, is he singing?”

Nicholas said brightly, “Oh! Yes! This was why I wanted to talk to you!”

Elliot, listening to the music as it started up, said, “Fuck, is he singing ‘My Way’ like he’s fucking Frank Sinatra?”

“Right?!” exclaimed Nicholas, sounding delighted. “When he said that was the song he was going to do, I had to come find you, because you’ve been weird about Jonah recently—”

“I haven’t been weird about Jonah.”

“—but this is such classic Jonah. I knew that you, Elliot, would enjoy this classic Jonah.”

Onstage, Jonah stretched out his arm, pointed to a random audience member, and winked at her as if he were acknowledging a member of his fan club. The audience member shrieked.

“I am enjoying this classic Jonah,” Elliot promised. “And you are extraordinarily drunk. Seriously. When did this happen?”

“I blame that drink you ordered for me at Pagu.”

“Yeah, this is because you only drink fake alcohol all the time.” Nicholas's eyes were just a little glassy, which made them even more striking than usual. “Can’t hold your liquor, Proust.”

“Oh, my God,” said Nicholas, “was that an _anti-Hemingway_ joke? Was that the joke you just made?”

“It was indeed,” said Elliot, pleased that Nicholas had caught it. This was why Nicholas was the best.

“That was fucking elegant,” said Nicholas solemnly.

“Regrets,” sang Jonah from the stage, “I’ve had a few.” This was normally the point in karaoke when the mob started booing, but for some inexplicable reason people were _cheering_. Jonah was swaggering around the stage like he thought he was an actual member of the Rat Pack, and instead of treating this like the ridiculous thing it was, the audience was _encouraging him_.

Elliot squinted at him. Maybe Jonah was taller, or more stately, or more something, onstage than he was in person. He _always_ got the lead roles, and Elliot had never understood it. Even as good as Nicholas had been when he and Elliot had worked together in productions, he’d never gotten the kind of applause Jonah always seemed to get.

“Elliot!” exclaimed Caroline, descending upon him, and for a moment Elliot was pleased she had appeared because it meant he could stop wondering about Jonah’s weird appeal. “Thank God I found you.”

Elliot’s pleasure at her appearance wavered. “Why?” he asked warily, because it was never a good thing when Caroline was looking for him at the Hong Kong.

“I put you down to sing ‘Sweet Caroline’ with me.”

“Caroline,” Elliot said. “No. Somebody already sang ‘Sweet Caroline’ tonight.”

“It doesn’t matter! The crowd loves it!”

“It’s such a fucking cliche,” said Elliot.

“It’s _my song_ ,” Caroline pointed out. “It is a song _about me_.”

“It isn’t literally,” Elliot said. “I’m just checking to make sure you know that.”

“If there was a song about Elliot, you would never let us stop listening to it. Nicholas, am I right about that?”

“She’s right about that,” Nicholas said unhelpfully. This was why Nicholas was _not_ the best.

“You’d make all of us change our ringtones to the Song About You.”

“Who am I in your head?” Elliot asked her.

“Honestly, Elliot, who you are in my head is just as realistic as who you are in your head.”

Elliot had drunk too many scorpion bowls to parse that.

On the stage, Jonah insisted that he had done everything his way, and then they announced Elliot and Caroline singing “Sweet Caroline,” and the crowd at the Hong Kong was predictably delighted to hear, for the ten thousandth time, “Sweet Caroline.”

Elliot said, “Fuck it, I’ll sing ‘Sweet Caroline’ with you.”

When he got onstage, he stretched his arm out, pointed, and winked at Jonah, just because he could.

***

The deal Elliot had made with the Hong Kong was that he could break out Gackt for Jane only toward the end of the night, which Elliot thought was stupid, clearly the Hong Kong had no idea how much Jane was going to kill the Gackt and have the entire remaining crowd clamoring for her to sing another song.

At any rate, when Elliot finally tracked down Jane, she was drunker than he had anticipated.

“Seriously,” he said, “am I the only one of us who remembers how to drink a scorpion bowl?”

“Elliot,” said Jane, and immediately threw an arm around his neck. “You wore my shirt.”

“Just for you,” Elliot said. Jane’s shirt was a black t-shirt that said BUMP OF CHICKEN on it, and Elliot had changed into it after leaving Pagu, because Jane had gotten him that shirt years ago as a thank-you for always indulging her love of Asian pop, and he had taken one look at it and decided that he didn’t need to know what a bump of chicken was, it didn’t matter because the t-shirt was perfect and it was 100% his aesthetic and he was going to wear it for Jane always. Except now Jane was going away and maybe it would be the last time she got to see him wear his ridiculous BUMP OF CHICKEN shirt, and Elliot suddenly decided then and there that he was going to wear it even after she went away, proudly and unironically, even if it got him stares from people on the subway, because this was Jane’s shirt.

“You usually wear nice shirts,” she said, hugging his arm.

“Thank you.”

“Except for that orange pinstriped one you think is so coolly vintage.”

“It is cooly vintage.”

“It’s hideous,” said Jane, and that was when the emcee announced over the microphone, “So, we’ve had a special request for Jane to come up and sing some Gackt. Is there a Jane in the house?”

Jane pulled away from Elliot, her eyes widening. “Did you get Gackt for me?”

“You said you wanted Gackt,” Elliot said.

“ _Elliot_ ,” said Jane, and then went streaking toward the stage, screaming, “Me! I’m Jane! That’s me!”

Jane conferred with the emcee about songs and Jonah said to Elliot, “What is this Gackt? I’ve never heard of it, where did you find it?”

“Gackt is a 700-year-old vampire, Jonah,” Elliot said. “You can read about him on this place called ‘the Internet.’”

Jonah looked, as he always looked, amused. “I know about the Internet.”

“Do you? It’s just, you’re wearing a smoking jacket and sang Frank Sinatra tonight, so I was just making sure.”

“People known for singing Christina Aguilera songs shouldn’t throw stones,” said Jonah.

“Jesus Christ, that was _one time_ ,” said Elliot, and Jonah laughed at him, and Elliot was abruptly annoyed he hadn’t drunk more of his scorpion bowl because it clearly was not having the desired Jonah-muting effect.

And then Jane started singing Gackt.

The thing about Jane was she probably could have been a pop star, Elliot thought. Like, Jane was just that type of person. Jane could have been anything she wanted to be. She wanted to be exactly who she was, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t an inner pop star waiting to get out there. It didn’t matter that zero people in this crowd of Bostonians knew who Gackt was, or what the lyrics were to “Vanilla,” the song she was singing. All Jane had to do was bounce around the stage smiling her Jane smile and pretending the whole audience was in on it, and pretty soon they were. The whole crowd shouted “Encore!” when she was done, and so Jane launched into an encore, bouncing around the stage some more and basically winning over several dozen new Gackt fans who were probably Shazaming the songs right at that moment.

At the conclusion of the second song, Jane performed a dramatic bow to raucous applause and whistles.

And then Jane said into the microphone, “So this is my last night in Boston,” to a chorus of sad aww’s and boos. “I’m going to go work for Google,” she continued.

Jane was drunk, Elliot realized abruptly. Well, he’d known that, but he’d misestimated the level of drunkenness. Apparently it was public-confession level. Time to get Jane off the stage.

“And I just want to thank all of you for sending me off with some Gackt—Elliot,” Jane said brightly when he appeared on the stage.

“Hi,” he said softly, trying to nudge her off as unobtrusively as possible. “Why don’t we—”

“Everyone, this is Elliot,” Jane told the crowd. “Everyone say ‘Hi, Elliot.’”

“Hi, Elliot!” the crowd called to him.

He gave them a little wave and said to Jane, “I think we should—”

“Elliot got me the Gackt tonight,” Jane told the crowd. “Like, that’s the kind of friend Elliot is. I said I wanted Gackt for my going-away party, and he got the fucking Hong Kong to play me Gackt. Can we have a round of applause for Elliot?”

They actually did give him a round of applause.

Elliot gave another little wave of acknowledgment so he wouldn’t look ungrateful and said to Jane, “Okay, but—”

“This is a thing about Elliot,” Jane went on. “Like, if you’re one of Elliot’s favorites, he’s…” Jane looked from the crowd to Elliot and said, “You’re kind of amazing, sometimes. I mean sometimes you’re an asshole, but sometimes you’re my best friend in the entire universe and who’s going to play me Gackt in California and I’m going to miss you desperately.” And then Jane hugged him, pressing her face into his neck.

“Okay,” Elliot said, and hugged her back, and closed his eyes. “It’s okay,” he promised. “It’ll be okay.”

Jane nodded against his neck and Elliot managed to whirl her off the stage and the Hong Kong crowd gave them one last cheer.

***

Elliot could tell it was almost closing time from the fact that he had a chair. And the fact that Jane had the chair next to him and had her head on his shoulder and was, as far as Elliot could tell, sleeping. He really should get them a Lyft and get them home but then the night would be over and Elliot was oddly reluctant to call the night over.

Caroline and Blake had left. Jonah had disappeared home with some impossible _groupie_ from his “My Way” performance, like wanting to have sex with Jonah was a thing that made _any_ sense. Hazel was deep in conversation with Kate a few steps away and Elliot wondered hazily when Kate had shown up. Hazel’s boyfriend was doing that thing where he seemed to be half-studying Elliot at all moments. But since Elliot was doing nothing but sitting on a chair with Jane asleep on him, he couldn’t imagine what he was doing that was interesting. Hazel’s boyfriend probably definitely had a little crush on him; it happened.

“Is she awake?” Nicholas asked, pausing in front of them.

“I’m awake,” mumbled Jane, not budging from Elliot’s shoulder.

“I’m going home,” Nicholas told her.

“Are you taking Elliot with you?” asked Jane.

Nicholas looked questioningly at Elliot, who shook his head.

“I am not,” Nicholas answered her.

“You should go home with Nicholas, Elliot,” said Jane.

“I’m going home with you,” Elliot said.

“Alright, fine, I guess I can’t argue with that,” grumbled Jane. “Nicholas.” She reached forward and took his hand.

Still drunk, Elliot thought.

“Promise me you’re going to watch our boy,” Jane said solemnly, clutching at Nicholas’s hand.

Nicholas’s eyes flickered briefly toward Elliot. They looked amused, but a nice kind of amused, an amused that made him feel warm and wanted, not mocked and seen-through. Beyond the amusement, though, Nicholas’s eyes were unreadable. He said, “Absolutely. Everything except the weird blowjob thing.”

“But the blowjob thing is very important,” Jane insisted.

“Okay,” said Elliot. “Nicholas has to go. Bye, Nicholas.”

Nicholas grinned and leaned forward and kissed Jane’s cheek. “Bye, Jane. Have a blast at Google.”

“Mmm,” Jane agreed sleepily, and rubbed her cheek against Elliot’s shoulder.

“As for you,” said Nicholas, turning to Elliot, and then suddenly crouching in front of him, a hand on each of Elliot’s knees.

Elliot blinked, startled, and consciously did _not_ move his legs further apart to make room for Nicholas. He said, “Um. What’s going on?”

Nicholas smiled at him. He said, “You are, like, the world’s most annoying person about thirty percent of the time.”

“Thirty percent?” Elliot echoed.

“You drink all of my best coffee.”

“I buy you more,” Elliot said automatically, his eyes on the fact that Nicholas's hands were still resting on his knees. Nicholas didn’t do this, didn’t...settle between Elliot’s legs with his hands on Elliot’s knees.

“You can be impossible to reason with,” said Nicholas, “and half the time I really have no idea what’s going on in that ever-whirring head of yours.”

“I…” Elliot tore his eyes off of the look of Nicholas's hands on his knees to look at Nicholas himself. The last song of the night was loud in the background and somewhere lights were turning on and Nicholas seemed both right in front of him and incredibly far away, his eyes very very impossibly bright. “That kind of makes two of us,” Elliot admitted helplessly, and wished Nicholas would move away from him so he would be more confident of his ability to not say stupid things like that. Or he wished Nicholas would move closer.

Nicholas moved closer, and for one wild moment Elliot thought Nicholas was drunk enough to kiss him, and Elliot wondered what the fuck he was going to do if Nicholas kissed him, and upset this careful balance they had, where they didn’t do this, where they just never--but then Nicholas didn’t kiss him, Nicholas ducked to the side and said into his ear, “But I know your secret.”

“My…” Nicholas leaned back again, and Elliot tried to put a coherent sentence together while simultaneously wrestling what was either tremendous relief or disappointment that Nicholas hadn’t upended their balance and kissed him. “What?”

Nicholas smiled at him, looking relaxed and comfortable with his hands on Elliot’s knees, settled between Elliot’s legs, and Elliot wanted to fucking kill him for looking like that, or just wanted to fuck him, period.

Nicholas said, “You’re a good friend. You’re actually an excellent friend. Jane is right: Being one of Elliot’s favorites is a dazzling privilege. I mean, also frustrating madness, but I’ll take it. It’s worth it.”

Elliot stared at Nicholas and almost wondered if he’d fallen asleep and this was some crazy vivid dream he was having. He wanted to look around to ground himself in reality, and he also didn’t want to take his eyes off of Nicholas’s face. He licked his lips and said breathlessly, “You’re drunk.”

Nicholas Elliot-laughed. “I am. It’s still true. This was a good going-away party. Well done, X-tina.”

Elliot somehow found enough air to force out a laugh. “That was really just one time,” he pointed out, because that seemed easier to say than...anything else.

“Yeah, but it was a good time,” Nicholas said. “You’re a good singer. It suits you.”

Elliot swallowed. "I'm not that good. I'm just okay. You should sing at these things. How come you never sing at these things?"

Nicholas impossibly leaned even closer. “Because, you would never understand this impulse but sometimes being in the audience is exactly where I want to be. Because sometimes I like to just sit back and watch you dazzle everyone.”

And then, before Elliot could process that, Nicholas straightened, taking his hands off of Elliot’s knees, and Elliot was so busy staring at his newly revealed knees as if he’d never seen them before that he didn’t really register Nicholas saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” or Jonah suggesting he and Nicholas share a cab, or the fact that the Hong Kong was literally kicking all of them out.

Hazel said, “Elliot? Are you... good to get home?”

Elliot blinked to refocus away from his knees onto Hazel, who looked as if she genuinely doubted his ability to get home.

“Yeah,” he said, sucking in a breath, because he wasn’t sure he’d breathed at all in the past few minutes. “I’m good. I’ll pour Jane and me into a Lyft.”

And he did. He very responsibly called a Lyft, and he very responsibly took Jane back to his place, and he very responsibly gave her his bed, and he crawled onto his couch and stared up at his ceiling and didn’t fall asleep until sometime after dawn.

***

Elliot woke with a raging headache and Jane making coffee in his kitchen. He spent a moment with his face pressed into his couch cushions, contemplating whether he could make this entire day go away.

Then Jane said, “I know you’re awake.”

Elliot sighed and rolled himself off the couch and wandered into the kitchen, where Jane looked suspiciously chipper.

“I hate you,” Elliot said, collapsing against his counter.

“I used your shower,” Jane said, and surveyed him up and down. “You should also use your shower.”

“Thanks for the tip,” said Elliot.

“And then I went to your parents’ house to say goodbye to them and your mother made me a Bloody Mary, which is probably what you need.”

“I need to die,” said Elliot. “That’s probably what would make me feel better.”

Jane smiled at him, then said, “What’s this?” and pointed to the gift-wrapped narrow box Elliot had left on the kitchen counter.

“Well, it says ‘Jane’ on it,” Elliot pointed out, daring himself to pour a cup of coffee.

“Elliot,” she said. “You didn’t need to--”

“It’s so you don’t forget about us.”

“I’ll be back every few weeks. And we’ll be working on the podcast together.”

“The podcast,” Elliot said. “I feel like I actually went a few hours _not_ thinking about the podcast.”

“Ha,” said Jane, starting to unwrap her gift. “You love it. And you need it. It’s a shenanigan for you. I don’t want you sitting here feeling sorry for yourself about not having shenanigans around you. I told Hazel she should ask you to do the social media. Build the brand on Twitter. Sell everyone on how amazing and awesome the podcast is. You’ll be good at it, because you’re good at selling people on things. You’re a salesman at heart.”

Elliot supposed he couldn’t argue with that. He watched as Jane pulled the top off the box and looked down at the white glass lilies inside.

“White flowers that will never die,” Elliot said. “You can put them in a vase in your new place.”

“They’re beautiful,” Jane told him. “Also, how the fuck am I carrying these on a plane?”

“Carefully,” Elliot said.

Jane shook her head a little and looked down at the glass flowers and then replaced the cover on the box and said slowly, “I should go.”

“You can stay,” Elliot said. “I can take you to the airport later.”

“No.” Jane shook her head. “I think I’d rather… Thank you. For everything.”

“Yeah,” Elliot said. “Of course.”

She hugged him again, and Elliot tried to remember the last time he’d gotten so many hugs from Jane.

“I’ll see you soon,” she said, and kissed his cheek, and then he walked her out and waited until her Lyft showed up and then watched the Lyft take her away and then he turned to go back to his apartment and encountered his mother watching him steadily.

He said, “Jane says I need a shower.”

“Maybe you also need pancakes,” his mother suggested lightly, which sounded like a good idea to him.

***

Elliot, pancaked and showered and somewhat less hungover than he had been, was back on his couch staring at his ceiling when Nicholas texted.

_Are you sitting around feeling sorry for yourself?_

Elliot looked at the text for a very long moment. He contemplated what to say. He settled for, _No_.

Nicholas responded, _Don’t. Come over. You can help me make pickles._

Elliot didn’t even ask why Nicholas was making pickles. Elliot looked up at the ceiling and thought how this was his life: wanting Nicholas, wanting to be right near Nicholas, paralyzed with terror that eventually, someday, Nicholas might not ask Elliot over to make pickles.

Nicholas was as chipper as Jane had been. Why couldn’t any of these people be properly hungover?

“How are you even out of bed right now?” Elliot demanded sourly, sitting at Nicholas's table and watching him literally slicing cucumbers because he really was literally making pickles. Ian Purrtis jumped up on Elliot’s lap to try to make up for all of his annoying hangover-less friends, which Elliot appreciated. “Do you know how drunk you were last night?”

“How drunk was I last night?” Nicholas asked obediently.

Elliot watched him for a moment, uncertain whether to bring it up or not. He said, “You told me that I’m a good friend.”

Nicholas Elliot-laughed lightly. “Did I? You’re right, I _was_ very drunk.”

Elliot sighed and let Ian Purrtis rub his forehead against his chin. He was confused and he was tired and maybe he didn’t have the energy for any of this at the moment, and especially not Nicholas and his pickles and his hands on his knees and that look in his eyes and his mouth at Elliot’s ear.

“Hey,” Nicholas said, sounding genuinely concerned, and Elliot opened his eyes to find him looking at him in confusion. “You okay?”

Elliot was always okay. Elliot was never not okay. It was a hallmark of Being Elliot. He was smooth and unruffled and even-keeled in the face of all of the wild, mad confusing tempest of the world.

But Elliot didn’t feel okay. Elliot felt kind of like he wanted to ask if Nicholas would sit on the couch and let Elliot crawl into his lap and just hold him for a little while. Or Elliot wanted Nicholas to maybe put his hands on his knees again. Elliot wanted Nicholas to duck in and kiss him this time instead of whispering in his ear. Sometimes, Elliot longed to just _know_ , if crawling into Nicholas’s lap and kissing him senseless would ruin everything. He longed to try it and just _see_.

He didn’t because, well, if it ruined everything, where the fuck did that leave Elliot?  

“I’m tired,” Elliot said, which was as honest a response as he could think to make.

“Are you angry I never say it sober?” Nicholas asked with a little smile. “You’re a very good friend. How’s that?”

“Yeah,” said Elliot. “Thanks.”

Nicholas lifted an eyebrow and sat opposite him at the table. “You are clearly fragile today. I’ll lay off the teasing.”

“I’m okay,” said Elliot. “I’m just—”

“Well, I have something to tell you that’ll cheer you up,” said Nicholas.

Elliot couldn’t imagine what that could be. “What?”

Nicholas took a deep breath and said, “The podcast. And the fake identity. I’m all in. So have at it, Professor Higgins.”

Elliot stood up so quickly Ian Purrtis was forced to bound off his lap with an indignant yowl. “Do you mean it?” he said.

Nicholas chuckled. “I just said it, didn’t I? I figured you can hook me up with an alias now and by the time I meet Hazel for rehearsals tomorrow I can give her the good news.”

“Hazel. Aha.” Elliot dug out his phone to see if he had any messages from her, and sure enough:

_Hey, Elliot! I was wondering if you’d want to do social media for the podcast since you’re so excited about it! No worries if not, just let me know!_

“Ha,” said Elliot, texting her back, generously, _Hey! Thanks for coming out last night. Social media, you say? I’m already on it._

Nicholas raised his eyebrows. “There,” Elliot said, swiping his phone off. “I’m officially your master and commander when it comes to all things social media.”

“Huh,” said Nicholas. “I thought you were just interested in having _me_ do the podcast.”

“I contain multitudes,” said Elliot, “and am going to see to it that your alter-ego has a full and dashingly mysterious life by noon.”

“Lead the way, Walt Whitman,” said Nicholas.

“Walt. Waldo,” said Elliot, herding him into the office. Their laptops were currently both open side by side on Nicholas's desk.  “Waldo would be perfect.”

“Oh, man, you are not going there,” said Nicholas, dragging his other not-really-an-office-chair over to the desk and settling into it so Elliot could have the one with lumbar support. Elliot slunk into it gratefully. Ian Purrtis followed them into the room and settled warily in the corner. “How do you even remember that?”

“Dude,” said Elliot. “We are never forgetting you and your little wilderness quest to Thoreau land. It’s a perfect nickname.”

“It was supposed to be pastoral,” Nicholas said sadly. “It was going to be a quiet day communing with nature, and instead half the park was under construction and the pond was dying from pollution.”

“And the fact that you were so bummed about it is what makes you the Waldo,” said Elliot. “Besides, it’s symbolic. They’ll seek you here, they’ll seek you there.”

“That’s the Scarlet Pimpernel, not _Where’s Waldo_ ,” said Nicholas.

“Behold!” said Elliot.

He turned his laptop to Nicholas, who stared at it, and then burst into laughter.

“Oh, no,” he said. “No!”

“ _Yes_ ,” said Elliot. “It’s perfect,” because it was.

The Blazer Pic was legend among their friends circle, and technically it was not one Blazer Pic, but many. The day they’d all gone to Walden Pond, they’d planned to do it right, early morning hike and picnic on the grass and everything—which meant that Nicholas had shown up at Blake’s parents’ house at 6 am, bright and early like everyone else, except that instead of wearing hiking gear, he was wearing a fucking _blazer_. It was wool and had honest-to-god patches on the shoulders, and after they’d all gotten done laughing at him for it, Nicholas had just shrugged and stepped outside on the lawn and lit a cigarette, cool as anything.

And Elliot had grabbed Caroline’s camera and snapped a flurry of photos of him, cigarette smoldering between his fingers, almost a total blur except for the sharp outlines of his profile against the hazy dawn light. It looked like something out of fucking Tarkovsky. (Speaking of aesthetic.)

Throughout the rest of the day they’d all constantly snapped pictures of Nicholas and The Blazer: Nicholas crossing a log in The fucking Blazer; Nicholas carrying a picnic basket in The fucking Blazer; Nicholas standing on the side of a hill contemplating environmental decay in The fucking Blazer. (Elliot had also taken a pineapple into the woods, because he had felt certain that a pineapple would be a glorious addition to their little picnic adventure, but that was another story, and anyway he’d made sure none of those photographs survived.)

In the intervening years they’d all kept circulating the pictures from that day, so now everyone had several variants of The Blazer Pic tucked away on their Facebooks. Elliot had always loved the one he’d taken that morning the most, both because it was the quintessential portrait of Nicholas in his head—blithely unaffected by his friends’ teasing, just kicking back being Nicholas, confident in who he was, unpretentious even in his pretensions—and because they’d all been there: him, Nicholas, Evan and Anna when they were still happy, Caroline when she and Elliot were still hiding their thing from everyone else and being coy about it, Jonah when he was still living with Nicholas and Elliot in the Eggplant and was thus slightly less unbearable at all times.

Hazel and Blake and even Kate had been there, too. Jane, who had just transferred to Emerson not long before, had come with them for the first time, and Elliot had pretty much known from that day forth that they’d be best friends when she spontaneously started to hum “Waterloo Sunset” while looking out over the murky water. He’d picked up a walking stick, fully polished and perfectly gnarled, that someone had left out on the hiking trail that day, and had kept it ever since, in the corner of his garage apartment’s living room. It reminded him of meeting Jane, and Nicholas’s dumb blazer, and the feeling that they were all going to be immortal together.

“Huh.” Nicholas contemplated Elliot’s variant of The Blazer Pic.

“We’ll have to make sure everyone deletes their versions of The Blazer Pic, of course,” Elliot said. “To make you more untraceable. But I think this works for Waldo, don’t you?”

“Huh,” said Nicholas again. “You really think that looks like Waldo playing Sebastian? Even though Waldo is an obvious fake name for a sockpuppet who didn’t have an internet presence until today?”

“Mon ami,” said Elliot. “By the time we’re through, even _you_ will think our friend Waldo has always existed among us.”

***

Elliot had a secret Tumblr where he mostly posted artsy hipster landscapes and architectural reblogs and indie films, and another secret _secret_ Tumblr where he mostly communed with _Pretty Little Liars_ fandom, and a secret Instagram where 8,500 followers raved about his carefully angled photos of Ian Purrtis, and a public Twitter where he did Twitter things, and a private Twitter where he mostly stalked celebrities he would never admit to stalking publicly, and he’d made an entire website and social media account network to promote _The Iceman Cometh_ , which came in handy when he served as dramaturg for a production Nicholas directed the following year. So when Hazel passed the torch of handling the social media to him, Elliot pretty much knew exactly what to do.

He got some minor work things out of the way and then spent the rest of the afternoon guiding Nicholas through the making of his alter-ego, Waldo James.

“I knew you were going to choose that,” Elliot said, “because of your Blur name thing.”

“I don’t always name things after Blur.”

“You do always name things after Blur.”

“Ian Purrtis wasn’t named after Blur.”

“Ian Purrtis is named _Ian Purrtis_ , so I don’t think you want to use him as an example of how great you are at naming things.”

Waldo was a business student who was currently getting licensed to sell real estate. He was calculatedly boring, and all of the info that Elliot spent the afternoon strategically putting on the internet about him was designed to be as mundane and attract as little interest as possible. Waldo had a Letterboxd account where he liked boring action-adventure and superhero films. After Elliot yielded up his private Twitter and made it Waldo’s public Twitter, Waldo suddenly had a boring profile made years earlier in which he followed all the right boring celebrities on Twitter. Elliot donated his second ironic Spotify account and made it Waldo’s primary account where he suddenly had a two-year-long track record of liking shitty pop music.

“I would never have added Lil Mix to a playlist,” Nicholas protested. “That is all you.”

“No,” Elliot said sternly. “That’s all _Waldo_.”

Waldo James had no Facebook presence and only the one blurry blazer photo as his Twitter profile, but Elliot did donate his third secret Tumblr where he would occasionally drunkenly reblog photos that called to him.

“Why are there all these photo of shadowy figures in fog tagged in French?” Nicholas said. “Is that what Waldo likes?”

“Waldo is still finding his Tumblr aesthetic,” Elliot sniffed.

After Elliot was done giving Waldo James a life, he set out to give Hazel’s podcast a web presence. Within a couple of hours he’d given her a full website (details to be filled in later) and a suite of social media accounts. “Are you really going to have time to run all of those?” Nicholas asked over his shoulder. “And does Hazel’s podcast really need a Snapchat?”

“My good man, everyone needs Snapchat,” said Elliot. “That’s like suggesting someone doesn’t need Polyvore.”

Nicholas's doubts, Elliot knew, would quickly be quelled at their first rehearsal later that night. Although Hazel initially greeted him warily (“Nicholas! You’re here! And... Elliot. Elliot, why are you here?”), she warmed up rapidly when he produced for her the day’s accomplishments. So far, things were going well.

Or at least they were until Jonah stepped in.

“You’ll need a Patreon, of course,” Elliot was explaining beatifically to Hazel, “but I figure that can wait until you’ve got a few episodes under your belt.”

“Wait, wait,” said Jonah, who’d been scrolling through Elliot’s handiwork on his phone. “Does this mean we’re all going to have to call Nicholas Waldo from now on?”

Nicholas laughed and said, “Of course not,” just as Elliot replied, “Well, yeah, clearly.”

They started and blinked at one another.

“Obviously you can still call him Nicholas in real life,” said Elliot. “But the whole point is to give Nicholas an alias that can’t be traced back to him, right? That means that for all intents and purposes you’re working with a colleague named Waldo James.”

Except for Hazel’s boyfriend, who was watching everyone else with his pen poised over his notebook, they all began talking at once, over Elliot’s objections.

“Wait, wait, I don’t want to be called Waldo if it’s gonna be this, like, big _thing_ ,” said Nicholas. “I thought it was mostly just for fun, like for Twitter and whatever.”

“And I don’t see how a name like _Waldo_ will draw less attention to Nicholas,” said Jonah dryly.

“It’s after Walden,” Elliot explained in his best small-words-and-visual-aids voice. “Have you ever read a book?”

“Have _you_ ever read a non-pretentious book?” Jonah retorted. “Because nobody’s going to think of Walden and everybody’s going to think of ‘Where’s Waldo?’”

“Nicholas likes Walden,” Elliot said defensively. “Nicholas likes Thoreau and Nicholas likes Transcendentalism.”

Jonah lifted an eyebrow. “Does he? What else does Nicholas like?”

“Okay,” Nicholas said. “Maybe we should put a pin in the Waldo discussion--”

“I think Waldo’s a cute name,” said Kate, who had apparently been cast in all the other roles that weren’t for Jonah and Nicholas.

“Cute?” echoed Elliot. “Am I the only one who’s taking Hazel’s podcast seriously?” Elliot went to Hazel and put a solicitous hand on her shoulder. “This is actually happening. You’re going to put this on iTunes. It’s going to get marketed. You’re going to do behind-the-scenes previews. Your leading actor can’t be Nicholas half the time and some other name the other half.” He sent Nicholas an encouraging smile. “You won’t have to be in the spotlight if you don’t want—just your fake name. That’s what it’s for.”

Hazel sighed and shrugged Elliot’s hand away from her. “Thanks, Elliot, for your help, but I think for now we just need to focus on recording and producing the story. We can only afford to rent the recording studio a few hours a month, so I think we need to focus on optimizing rehearsal time so we can maximize our time when we’re actually in front of the microphones.” She sent a smile Nicholas's way. “You know it doesn’t matter what name you pick, we’ll go with whatever makes you comfortable.”

“I’m pretty sure _Waldo_ won’t make anyone comfortable,” said Jonah.

Hazel shot him a look. “With _whatever_ ,” she repeated. “Just let us know what you decide.”

Nicholas nodded.

“Right,” she said, looking around at her production team. “Should we start?”

***

They were meeting in Hazel and Hazel’s boyfriend’s apartment, a little cramped where they all had squeezed in around their kitchen table, and as Hazel gave direction and Hazel’s boyfriend explained story choices and Jonah began to make insufferable little speeches about connecting to the _humanity_ of his metaphysical construct character, Elliot looked around at how raptly engaged everyone seemed to be, and wondered why he’d bothered to come. It wasn’t as if he needed to hear a script he’d already mostly heard, and it’s not like they needed him to be there if he was just doing the promotional stuff. Nicholas was happily contributing, asking questions and making suggestions, and Elliot spared a thought to be proud of himself for nudging Nicholas into doing this thing he was so clearly enjoying.

And then Elliot left them to it. He took out his notebook and started jotting down ideas. They’d need an artist, of course, to design promotional artwork for each of the show’s episodes, which meant he’d need to get a list of all the episode titles from Hazel or Hazel’s boyfriend. If Hazel had seemed concerned about the direction Hazel’s boyfriend might have been taking the podcast during the conversation he’d overheard at Pagu, she didn’t seem to be now; she was nodding enthusiastically after every word. Elliot wondered if she’d thought of any, like, catch-phrases or hashtags to use. He could work on those next.

He’d gotten temporarily lost in listing out hashtags, and then in listing a number of Tumblr artist blogs he needed to check on for commissions to see if they would design the kind of steampunk-art-deco-Frank-Gehry-ish poster design he suddenly had in mind for _Time Ravel_ , when he became aware that the mood in the room had shifted, and that the script reading was finally happening.

“Hey,” Nicholas was saying, his voice naturally sinking a notch into what Elliot had already come to think of as Sebastian’s cynical purr. “We just closed for the night but if you’re looking for something specific—”

“Oh, I am,” said Jonah, looking up from the script and giving Nicholas a full-body once-over. “You’re Sebastian?”

“Yeah. Probably not the only one in this town.”

“But you own this bookstore.”

“Yes. But we’re closed.”

“You know that old movie?” Jonah shifted in his seat, still looking at Nicholas, and Nicholas looked up and caught his gaze, then, and suddenly Elliot could see it, see Sebastian, tired and bleary-eyed and completely unprepared for the gust of energy that had just swept into his bookshop, into his life. “The one that goes, ‘come with me if you wanna live?’”

It was Nicholas's turn to rove his eyes over Jonah, who would theoretically, as the Mysterious Man, be wearing some kind of patched-up get-up. Probably had a top hat, Elliot thought. He seemed the type.

“You must not be from around here, Mister,” Nicholas—no, Sebastian—said in an exaggerated drawl. “They don’t play movies like that anymore.”

“You could say I’m passing through,” said the Mysterious Man. “I have a proposition for you, if you’re up for it.”

He looked at Sebastian pointedly, and they held each other’s gazes for a moment.

“Well?” said Sebastian. “Do I get to hear it or do I just get to stand here enjoying the view?”

The Mysterious Man looked down at his threadbare clothes. “Where we’re going, it helps to dress down,” he said dismissively.

“Where we’re going?”

“May be easier to show you what I mean. If we could just step into your office?”

“Anybody ever told you, you answer a lot of questions with questions?”

“Has anyone ever told _you_ your bookstore is irresistible to time travelers?”

“Okay, _that_ response doesn’t make me want to step into my office with you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of responses that will. Shall we?”

“Are you always like this? With someone you just met?”

“I make exceptions when I’m on a bit of a—let’s say, a time crunch.”

“Well, Mr. Time Cruncher, if you’ve got a weapon hidden in that overcoat, I’m guessing you don’t pull it out for just anyone. You got a name?”

“Well. Not hidden in my overcoat.”

“Touché.”

“Why don’t you just call me... whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Names don’t really matter to me. Much.”

“You know my name. Hardly seems fair.”

“The difference is that I’m about to trust you with something worth much more than your name.”

“And what’s that?”

The Mysterious Man looked at Sebastian for a long moment, and it was weighted and breathless, and then he opened his mouth to reply--

“Can we just pause there,” Hazel interrupted, and Elliot watched Jonah and Nicholas visibly pull themselves from the scene and each other.  “I have a couple of notes—”

“You have a couple of _notes_?” Elliot said, in disbelief. “You interrupted _that_ , for some _notes_?”

Hazel blinked at him and said, “Yes?”

Elliot ignored her because he had a more important question than whatever Hazel’s nonsensical notes on that annoyingly perfect scene might have been. He said to Hazel’s boyfriend, “Did you rewrite that?”

Hazel’s boyfriend looked startled at the question, and since Hazel’s boyfriend had never looked anything other than Omnipotent God Who Knew All Things, Elliot decided to be impressed with himself. “What?”

“That scene, did you rewrite it? I don’t remember it like that, what did you change about it?”

“I…” Hazel’s boyfriend looked bewildered by the question. “Not a lot. That scene is pretty much—”

“Can I see your script?” Elliot said to Nicholas, and then took it without waiting for Nicholas to respond.

“Okay,” said Nicholas belatedly. “Maybe we can save this for—”

The script was a fresh copy, and Elliot frowned, wishing Hazel’s boyfriend had thought to do a comparison version. He flipped through it quickly and then said, “This isn’t a redline.”

“Elliot,” said Hazel, sounding long-suffering, “what does any of this have to do with anything?”

Elliot scowled, because Elliot always scowled when he didn’t have an answer for something, and he didn’t know why Hazel couldn’t just _see_ that it was important, because clearly that scene had changed an _incredible_ amount since he had run these lines with Nicholas, he did not remember that level of... _that_ , when he had run the lines with Nicholas.

“Redlines are important,” Elliot said finally, sulkily, aware that everyone was staring at him, including Jonah, which made Elliot want to fling the script at Jonah’s head. He tried to save himself by thinking about social media. “We should, like, give redlines to the fans. For the Patreon.”

“First we need to _get_ fans,” Hazel said testily. “By letting me get through my directing notes.”

Elliot gave Nicholas back his script. Nicholas raised his eyebrows at him and Elliot thought he was going to have to start playing Fuck Marry Kill with Nicholas as soon as they got back to Nicholas's place in order to distract him from having a tiresome conversation about Proper Behavior at Podcast Read-throughs. Earlier in the evening than he usually dragged out that distraction technique, but desperate times insert-rest-of-trite-saying-here.

“Maybe you could get us some coffee,” suggested Jonah mildly.

Elliot glared at him. “ _What_?”

“That’s a good idea,” said Hazel. “If you want, there’s a coffee shop on the corner, you could just--”

“I’m not getting _coffee_ ,” Elliot said, because there was a vast difference between Elliot thinking there wasn’t really any reason for him to be there and Hazel implying it out loud. “I’m running the _social media_.”

“Oh, is that what this is called?” said Jonah.

“Elliot—” Nicholas started.

And the last person Elliot needed to hear from at the moment was _Nicholas_ , so Elliot said, “No, really—” with no real idea what the rest of his sentence was going to be.

“Elliot should stay,” Hazel’s boyfriend said evenly.

There was a moment of silence. Elliot tried not to be offended by the fact that everyone looked shocked by Hazel’s boyfriend wanting him to stay.

Hazel’s boyfriend continued while scribbling in his notebook. “Elliot should stay. He has valuable contributions.”

There was more shocked silence. Well, Jonah and Hazel and Kate looked shocked. Nicholas looked flummoxed. He lifted an eyebrow in Elliot’s direction and waited patiently for Elliot to say something.

Elliot said loftily, “ _Thank_ you.”

Nicholas looked torn between being irritated and being amused, which Elliot was counting as a win, because that was a battle between Nicholas's emotions he was confident of winning.

Hazel took a deep breath and let it out slowly and Elliot wondered if that was the kind of thing you learned in SoulCycle or whatever ridiculous thing Hazel belonged to these days. Then she said, “So if we could—”

And then Elliot said, because he couldn’t help it, he just _couldn’t help it_ , “You’re spelling his name wrong.”

***

“—on earth did you get _Sébastien_ from a guy who lives in _Antarctica_? Where do you even come up with this?”

“Just because he lives in Antarctica doesn’t mean his name has to lose all aesthetic! And it was obviously there in the script!” said Elliot indignantly, tossing his coat on Nicholas's couch. “The _original_ script, never mind what sorts of travesties Hazel’s boyfriend hath wrought upon it in the interim.”

“His name is _Tim_ , and I’m pretty sure an acute accent didn’t require you derailing the entire reading for half an hour.”

“I didn’t derail it for half an hour,” Elliot denied.

“Are you protesting my characterization of ‘derail,’” asked Nicholas, “or my characterization of it lasting half an hour?”

Elliot considered and decided his father would say you never abandoned an argument willingly. “Both,” he said. “I’m protesting both.”

“Well,” said Nicholas cheerfully, and fished his phone out of his pocket and tossed it to Elliot, who caught it instinctively. “You’re right. You derailed it for thirty-three minutes. So more than half an hour.”

Elliot said, “What is this?” and unlocked Nicholas's phone with his stupid ridiculous password and stared at the stopwatch on it, frozen at 33:25. Then he said to Nicholas, “Did you _time_ that? Did you literally _time_ the entire conversation?”

“I timed it so we could have a productive discussion about it. Let’s move on to the ‘derailment’ part of it.”

“Have you pre-Googled the definition of ‘derail’?” Elliot asked sulkily, and threw Nicholas's phone back to him.

Nicholas laughed, and objectively Elliot knew it was a good sign that Nicholas was laughing his Elliot-laugh at him but subjectively Elliot was more than ready to change the subject away from the podcast entirely. So Elliot collapsed onto the couch, where Ian Purrtis had already curled up on his coat and was steadily grooming his tail, and said, “Let’s play Fuck Marry Kill.”

“Already?” said Nicholas. “We’re already playing Fuck Marry Kill?”

“If I agree to dismiss the derailment argument, can we just not talk about the podcast anymore tonight?”

“No,” said Nicholas.

“I’m very tired,” Elliot decided. “Probably we should just go to bed with no further discussion.”

Nicholas laughed at him again. “I’m withholding the blanket from you until we talk about how you can’t criticize Hazel’s directing style—”

“I didn’t criticize Hazel’s directing style, I just _interrupted_ her, _that_ characterization I am definitely going to contest.”

“You criticized their _spelling_ , and that’s even worse.”

“Who spells Sebastian with an ‘a’?” Elliot demanded. “Seriously, Nicholas. Who?”

“Tim. Tim spells Sebastian with an ‘a’.”

“Who?” asked Elliot blankly.

“ _Elliot_ ,” said Nicholas.

“I’m kidding,” Elliot said to him. “That was a joke. I know his name.”

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious,” said Nicholas. “You’re a veritable Johnny Carson.”

“Update that reference,” Elliot said. “Please. It was painful.”

“I’m not sure you can go to any more readings,” Nicholas said seriously. “There’s no real reason for you to be there. It’s just an opportunity for you to get yourself into trouble.”

And Elliot may have been thinking exactly that during the reading—absent the “getting himself into trouble” thing, because what the fuck—but _still_. “Hazel’s boyfriend says I’m useful.”

“Yeah, I have no idea why _Tim_ said that,” said Nicholas, eyes narrow on him.

“Wow, Nicholas, thank you, what a supportive best friend you are.”

Nicholas snorted. “You don’t need a supportive best friend right now. You need a _less_ supportive best friend who says that you’re distracting at the readings.”

Elliot sighed.

“And it’s...a lot...already,” Nicholas continued hesitantly. “The readings. The whole thing. It would help if you weren’t there being distracting.”

Elliot sighed again and picked Ian Purrtis up bodily, since Ian Purrtis wasn’t taking the invitational hint of his lap, and said, “All right. Fine. I didn’t mean to be distracting to you.”

“I know,” said Nicholas.

“You were really great,” Elliot said. “As usual. You’re always great. Your Sebastian is great. Even if he spells his name stupidly.”

“The fact that you’re telling me that I am overcoming a stupid name spelling is very touching to me,” said Nicholas gravely.

“Yeah, well,” said Elliot, and shrugged, annoyed with himself for not having a better rejoinder, and focused on making Ian Purrtis purr satisfyingly.

Nicholas said, “I’d still fuck Richelieu.”

“I wasn’t going to pick Richelieu,” Elliot said automatically, even though he knew that was a major olive branch on Nicholas's part, to play Fuck Marry Kill with him here.

“You were. You always pick Richelieu. Also. You know what you can do while we’re at the readings?”

“What?” asked Elliot, trying not to sound glum, because he didn’t want to go to the stupid readings anyway.

“The social media,” Nicholas reminded him. “You have so many social media accounts, if they all became sentient, you could lead the siege of Troy with them.”

“The siege of Troy,” Elliot repeated.

“Yes,” said Nicholas. “So I sense you’re going to be plenty busy with the social media.”

Elliot supposed there was truth in that statement. He said, as it occurred to him, “We should talk about Waldo. I didn’t know you didn’t realize it was going to be your name.”

“Waldo was abstract in my head,” Nicholas said. “Having Jonah call _me_ Waldo is a little different.”

“Everyone would call you Waldo,” Elliot pointed out. “Not just Jonah.”

“Right. Let’s pick a new name. I don’t really want to be called Waldo.”

“Fine,” Elliot agreed readily. “I didn’t mean to railroad you into a name you didn’t like.”

“No, you thought I would like it, because I like Walden and Thoreau and Transcendentalism,” Nicholas said, with a little smile.

“You do,” Elliot said.

“I do. So what about Emerson, instead? Emerson is a name I could bear to be called.”

Elliot considered. “You don’t think it’s too on the nose? Naming yourself after our college?”

“No,” Nicholas said. “I think it’s perfect.”

“You like it?” Elliot said, just to check.

“I like it. Emerson was good, I would say. Largely positive experience. Dubious in some aspects, but largely positive.”

“Oh, look who’s Johnny Carson now,” drawled Elliot.

“Update your reference,” said Nicholas, grinning.

***

The next day was Sunday, and Sundays were always nice because Nicholas would usually wind up cooking Eggos and either burning them or failing to sufficiently toast them on one side, and it was always hilarious as only the sight of Nicholas staring woefully at a plate full of mediocre toaster waffles could be. Sometimes Elliot would take pity on him, and make him go out for brunch with whoever happened to be around, but today Elliot was feeling all social’d out from the week just past, so he was more than content to mock Nicholas while stealing most of his Eggos and making them accompanying bellinis and then live-commenting on Nicholas's Sunday edition of the _Times_ , because of _course_ Nicholas subscribed to the Sunday edition of the _Times_.

Halfway through the Style section, however, Elliot felt Nicholas's gaze and looked up to find himself being cheerfully scrutinized.

“You should apologize to Hazel,” Nicholas said.

“Should I?” said Elliot, raising one eyebrow and then feeling the other one lift, too, of its own accord.

Nicholas laughed a little. “Yes, you were kind of a terrifying stage mother last night.”

“Look,” said Elliot, “We’ve already made several _Gypsy_ references this week.”

“So let’s make this quick so we don’t wind up re-enacting ‘Rose’s Turn,’” said Nicholas. He held up Elliot’s phone, which he’d apparently already unlocked using Elliot’s stupid ridiculous password, and waggled it in Elliot’s face. “Sing out, Louise.”

Elliot accepted the phone dramatically, phoned Hazel dramatically, and then dramatically waited for her to answer. Nicholas just smiled through the entire display, and, see, that, right there, was the thing about Nicholas. No matter how completely justified a person was in one’s long-suffering interactions with other members of humanity, Nicholas would just smile beatifically at a person as though he thought _they_ were the one being ridiculous. It defied all logic, really, what went on in Nicholas's brain.

Hazel answered with, “Elliot?” in a voice that told him she and her boyfriend clearly hadn’t gone home and immediately started discussing 17th-century cardinals they would shag the previous night.

“Hazel!” Elliot said grandly, trying to make the smile come through in his voice even though it was more or less plastered onto his face like a rictus. “I was so hoping I’d catch you! How are you this morning?”

“Elliot,” said Hazel, “This really isn’t a good time, if you’ve—”

“I’m calling to apologize,” Elliot said hastily, rushed along by the clear impatience in her voice and the way Nicholas was squinting at him. “I know last night was a bit over-the-top and I’ve talked it over with Nicholas and I’ve decided that I really don’t _need_ to be at the rehearsals with you. I can just get whatever information I need from your—from _Tim_.” Elliot said his name with a triumphant flourish. He assumed Nicholas would be deeply impressed by this.

Nicholas didn’t look deeply impressed, but in fairness it was hard to look deeply impressed while eating a burnt Eggo.

Whatever Elliot had been expecting Hazel to do in reaction to his extremely benevolent and gracious speech, she didn’t do it. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. “You know,” she said at last. “It’s not that we aren’t glad you want to help, but—”

“I’ve already reworked Nicholas's social media,” said Elliot, cutting her off because he had the horrifying sensation she was about to do something unacceptable, like boot him from the project completely. “We’ve decided he’s going to be called Emerson. Emerson James.”

“Huh,” said Hazel. “Emerson. That suits him.”

“So that’s all taken care of,” said Elliot. He waited for her to sound impressed. When that didn’t happen, he added, “And of course we’ll have to talk about the Patreon once you’ve gotten the first episode recorded, and you’ll need someone to help with iTunes distribution.”

“Right,” said Hazel. “And I’m grateful for your help with all of that, really. I just don’t want you to think that means—”

“Oh, and I was thinking,” he continued desperately, searching for something, anything, that would take the skepticism out of her voice. At once, it came to him in a flash, and he shot Nicholas a smirk. (Nicholas still did not look impressed.) “You said you only got the recording studio for a few hours a week, right?”

“Right...” said Hazel. “So?”

“So,” said Elliot. “I really meant what I said. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you last night. I wasn’t trying to railroad your scene or be some kind of backseat director. You’re doing a great job.”

“Well,” said Hazel, sounding slightly more mollified. “I appreciate that.”

“So let me make it up to you,” said Elliot. “Let me buy you all the time you need during the recording sessions. At least to get you started.”

Hazel gasped. “What? Elliot. No, I couldn’t—you don’t have to do that—”

“Oh, please, it’s just a few more hours for the first few sessions, right? It’s fine.” As he said this, he glanced up to see what Nicholas's reaction was to this speech, to find Nicholas gazing at him like Colin Firth gazed at Jennifer Ehle in the Pemberley drawing room right before he tried to propose again and Elizabeth got news about Lydia eloping with Wickham in the six-hour version of _Pride and Prejudice_ that Elliot definitely had never seen before.

“Just send the billing info to me,” he said, feeling his cheeks go red a bit. “I’ll have it taken care of by the end of the day, and that way when you go into the studio you can take as long as you need to figure out what works and what doesn’t.”

Oh, wow,” said Hazel. “That’s... Elliot, that’s huge. You know that’s huge, right?”

“Hey,” said Elliot, forcing the smirk off his face in order to sound bashful. “That’s what friends do.”

“Wow,” said Hazel again. “Do... do you want to come and listen to the recording? I mean we won’t have much for you to do, but—”

Elliot laughed. He tended to take for granted, sometimes, how easily a person could turn a situation to their favor, just by finding the right sort of leverage.

“Nah,” he said benevolently. “I’m good. Nicholas has assured me he’s in good hands. Or rather, that—” he paused for dramatic effect—”Sebastian is.”

“Well... thanks,” said Hazel. “Really. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” said Elliot. Then he waited for Hazel to magnanimously suggest that as a thank you maybe they could switch Sebastian’s name from Sebastian with an ‘a’ to Sébastien with all the trappings.

Hazel did not do this, and Elliot realized nearly too late that their call had trailed off into an awkward silence.

“Well,” he said.

“Right,” said Hazel. “Hey, are you with Nicholas? Tim had a question about one of his lines.”

Elliot handed his phone back silently to Nicholas, and watched as Nicholas took it with questioning eyes.

He felt... he didn’t know what he felt. He didn’t feel bad about the recording studio. It was fine, whatever. He couldn’t even be miffed Hazel wasn’t grateful, because she was. It was just... she was obviously happy not having him come to the sessions. And Elliot had said he was fine with it. So. He’d be fine.

He slumped down in his chair and listened to Nicholas discuss the nuances of flirting with Jonah.

Clearly, this podcast was already turning on him. He would have to be diligent about wrestling it under his control.


	2. Chapter 2

Elliot exhausted all of the good sections of the _Times_ and sprawled on the couch with Ian Purrtis curled up on his stomach and fixed all of Emerson-née-Waldo’s social media while Nicholas did the crossword puzzle mainly by tapping his pen against the table in rhythm to “Pressure on Julian” and Elliot graciously refrained from pointing out that they were listening to Blur _again_.

“Tumblr name,” Elliot told him, poking at his tablet. “You need a Tumblr name.”

“It can’t just be Emerson James?” Nicholas said.

Elliot said, “Have you ever _been_ on Tumblr? No, it can’t be Emerson James. It needs to be something that encapsulates Emerson’s entire aesthetic.”

“Oh, good, so low pressure,” said Nicholas wryly.

“There’s an art to a good Tumblr name,” said Elliot. “It’s important to get it right.”

“It’s a website that thinks ‘lr’ is a pronounceable sound in English,” Nicholas pointed out.

Elliot ignored him. “It has to be _you_ , but in a really witty and charming way.”

“As opposed to the me that isn’t witty and charming?” said Nicholas mildly, tapping his pen on the table again. _I don’t really want to change a thing, I want to stay this way forever_.

Elliot said suddenly, “Charm. You listen to a lot of bands who sing about charm.”

“Do I? I don’t think that’s true.”

“Yes, you do,” Elliot said, trying out URLs. “So you can’t have thischarmingemerson but you _can_ have thischarmlessemerson, and that’s kind of perfect.”

Nicholas leaned back in his chair and smiled at Elliot and this time it was the smile that Colin Firth gave Jennifer Ehle when she was playing the piano at Lady Catherine’s, although, again, Elliot had never seen that miniseries. Nicholas said, “It’s good. I like it.”

Elliot smiled, pleased, and texted the URL to Jane, because he was happy with it and he thought Jane would appreciate it and he missed Jane.

Jane texted back immediately. _Where are you?_

 _Nicholas's_ , Elliot responded.

_Skype?_

_Go for it_ , Elliot texted, and said out loud, “Jane is Skyping us,” as the Skype call came through.

“Hi,” said Jane.

“You’re backlit,” Elliot said, because she was just a silhouette.

“Sorry,” she said, and adjusted where she was sitting. “How are you? Tell me everything that’s happening in Boston.”

“It’s miserable here,” Elliot said. “Everything is absolutely miserable without you.”

“Everything is fine!” Nicholas called from the table.

“Nicholas lies,” Elliot told her.

“Hi, Nicholas!” Jane called. “What’s this Tumblr? It’s a bunch of weird moody photos of people in fog.”

“It’s Emerson’s Tumblr.”

“Emerson our school?”

“No, Emerson the person.”

“Who’s Emerson the person? Did you meet someone? Did you manage to procure yourself an aesthetic blowjob?”

“No,” said Elliot. “Emerson is Nicholas.”

“Oh, Nicholas's stage name? Nice. Ha, I should have known, you managed to cram both Blur and the Smiths into that URL. Good job.”

“That was all Elliot,” Nicholas called.

“No, no,” Jane said, “Emerson is actually a good collaborative-sounding name. That’s a name everyone had input on. Well done, Elliotolas. Tell me how the podcast is going.” Jane gave Elliot a knowing look that told him that she had been in communication with Hazel.

Elliot said defensively, “I have given them such fabulous social media, Nicholas says I can lay siege to Troy with my social media.”

“That’s great,” said Jane drily, “but can you promote their podcast with your social media?”

“Yes, I can do that, too. I’m a multitasker. And their social media is _multifaceted_.”

“Well, Emerson at least is great. I have a total crush on you, Nicholas, your social media’s appealing.”

“Again,” Nicholas said from the table, “that was all Elliot.”

“Well, of course I’m going to make you _appealing_ ,” Elliot said.

“How did you post-date all these Tumblr entries?” Jane asked, still scrolling through them. “Without my help?”

“Uh,” said Elliot, “sometimes I know computer things. I’m a business analyst.”

Jane gave him a look. “Uh-huh. Nicholas, I heard your read-through was stunning.”

“Oh, is that what you heard about it?” said Nicholas.

“And that they’re spelling ‘Sebastian’ wrong,” said Jane, sounding amused.

“They’re spelling it with an ‘a,’ Jane,” Elliot said, still indignant about this, and even more indignant that no one else seemed willing to admit how ridiculous this was. “An _‘a’_. What is the aesthetic of a Sebastian with an ‘a’?”

“Elliot,” Jane said patiently, “you realize no one is ever going to know how Sebastian spells his name, because this is a _podcast_. No one’s going to see it written down. They’ll spell it however they want to spell it.”

“Oh,” said Elliot, struck by this. “You’re...right. No one will see the scripts.”

“I thought you said the Patreon people would see the scripts,” Nicholas said.

“Right,” Elliot said distractedly. “ _Eventually_ they would see the scripts. But in the meantime no one would know how it’s spelled. Jane’s right.”

“You should make up with Hazel,” Jane said, “not me.”

“I already made up with Hazel,” Elliot replied, self-satisfied. “I called her this morning and apologized for my behavior about Sebastian’s spelling like the mature individual I am.”

“Did you now?” said Jane. “Thank you, Nicholas!”

“I’ll send you a bill for my services,” Nicholas said to her, filling in a crossword puzzle answer.

Elliot sighed and said, “Tell me about California. Walk me around your place. I need to check the aesthetic.”

Jane rolled her eyes in a manner that conveyed to him the fact that her apartment was mostly boxes at the moment, so there was little aesthetic to be found. But she picked up her laptop and walked him around the place, and after he’d approved of all the natural lighting and instructed her where to put the Noguchi coffee table, she said, “So hey, I wanted to talk to you about the sound design on the podcast.”

“Ooh,” said Elliot, pleased. “I mean, of course, by all means.” Across the room, Nicholas smirked.

“Since the sound’s gotta be so immersive, I’m thinking of taking it into like Dieselpunk territory — lots of heavy metal sounds and clanging and crunching, give it that really apocalyptic sensation.”

“Makes sense,” said Elliot. “Only... it’s set in Antarctica, but Hazel keeps calling it Southern Gothic.”

“Uh... ” Jane looked confused. “So you want to give her Southern Gothic _Waterworld_? But with music?”

“Something like that,” said Elliot, opening up YouTube. “I’m thinking, like, maybe some bloodgrass. A little Kirk Franklin, a little Old Crow Medicine Show, that kinda thing. A lot of this should fit in with the dieselpunk mode, it’s pretty apocalyptic.”

“Bloodgrass,” said Jane. “Is that a made-up genre you just read about on Reddit?”

“No,” Elliot lied. “It’s like bluegrass meets horror. It’s musical Southern Gothic. I’ll send you playlists,” he added, already loading up Spotify.

When he signed off, he turned and saw Nicholas eyeing him.

“What?” he said.

“You know,” said Nicholas, “offering to pay for the recording session time…”

“Don’t mention it,” said Elliot, waving his hand around, the picture of gracious benevolence.

“You know that you can’t always buy your way into forgiveness, right?” said Nicholas. “An apology isn’t an invitation for you to spend a bunch of money on someone.”

Elliot considered. “Okay,” he said. “True. _But_ I bet Hazel is much happier with her recording session time than she would have been if I’d just said ‘I’m sorry.’”

“Yes,” said Nicholas. “I know. Which is why I didn’t call you on it and let you do it. But I’m just saying: sometimes there are ways of expressing love and affection for someone without showering money on them.”

“My childhood notwithstanding,” said Elliot.

“Your mom brings you _lasagne_ ,” Nicholas replied. “I’m not saying you’re not still spoiled as fuck--because you absolutely are--but you know very well how to be nice to someone without throwing money around, and that it means something even without a price tag.”

“Thank you, Jiminy Cricket,” said Elliot, “for all your hard work on me, teaching me the true value of love and friendship.”

Nicholas Elliot-laughed. “I’m just reminding you: Hazel’s your friend, and she likes you, and she would still have liked you even if you hadn’t bankrolled the recording session. We don’t just like you because of things like Pagu, you know.”

“I know,” said Elliot, and changed the subject. “What are your thoughts on bloodgrass?”

Nicholas laughed again. “Fine. I’ll go back to my crossword puzzle and leave you be.”

Elliot, gratefully leaving behind the topic of How to Make People Love You and Why, went back to loading up Spotify with playlist suggestions. It’d be a good idea to put some of those on the Time Ravel Tumblr, he thought, and then decided there was no need to wait until the first episode of the podcast actually came out. In fact he could just get started right away.

He opened up Tumblr and went to work, grabbing a few pieces of art that reminded him of the podcast, and throwing in a few songs to help establish the atmosphere. He was about to post when he realized he’d forgotten the tags. He added tags for the podcast....

Then he thought, why not, and went to add one for Sebastian himself—and remembered what Jane had said about no one seeing the names of the characters.

No one, of course, except everyone using social media.

“Whatcha doing?” said Nicholas pointedly. “You’re smiling. Like, that’s a scheming smile.”

Elliot looked over and blinked. “Who me?” he said. “Nothing. It’s not a scheming smile. It’s just a smile about how happy I am that we’re doing a time travel podcast together.”

“Uh-huh,” said Nicholas. “Whatever, just be nice to our time travel podcast.” He narrowed his eyes and then went back to his crossword.

Elliot eyed the computer. “At last, my arm is complete again,” he muttered, and tagged the post with:

_#Sébastien Yates_

***

Elliot woke up in the middle of the night worrying about the Blazer Picture.

Well, he woke up at six a.m. but that might as well have been the middle of the night. Oddly, Nicholas was already up and in the shower, because Nicholas kept impossibly weird hours.

Elliot dug his tablet out from under the couch where he’d stashed it and sat up and pulled up Facebook. Ian Purrtis, clearly disapproving that Elliot was awake, draped himself heavily over Elliot’s shoulder and neck.

“I don’t approve of being awake right now, either, Ian Purrtis,” said Elliot, yawning as he scrolled through Facebook accounts.

Nicholas wandered through the living room and said in surprise, “You’re awake.”

“I have very important work to be doing,” Elliot said, frowning at Facebook.

“I have never seen you business analyze before 9 a.m.,” said Nicholas from the kitchen.

“Not _that_ work,” Elliot said. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your actual job.” Nicholas wandered back into the living room. “What are _you_ talking about?”

“The podcast. That blazer picture of you is everywhere.”

“What? Everywhere? Already? Why?”

“Not ‘already.’ It _has been_ everywhere.” Elliot turned his tablet around to face Nicholas.

Nicholas leaned over and said, “That’s Evan’s Facebook. That’s not ‘everywhere.’”

“It’s on everyone’s Facebook.”

“Yes,” said Nicholas. “Because you were obsessed with that blazer and thought it was _hilarious_ that I wore that blazer and took seven million pictures of me in that blazer and then scattered them all over social media. This was all you, Johnny Appleseed. Now you are reaping what you sowed: your bountiful harvest of social media blazer pics.”

“You’re obsessed with Johnnys lately.”

“No, you’re just resembling Johnnys lately.”

“And I wasn’t obsessed with that blazer, it just _was_ objectively hilarious.”

Nicholas gave him a look. “Elliot, you carried a pineapple on that hike and you had all evidence of it scrubbed from the Internet. Meanwhile, my _blazer_ passed into legend.” Nicholas wandered down the hallway, apparently done with the conversation, or still getting ready for school, Elliot didn’t know.

Elliot was neither done with the conversation nor getting ready for school. He called after him, “That’s different! I’m not about to be a podcast star!”

“I’m not about to be a podcast star, either!” Nicholas called back. “That is all in your ridiculous head!”

Elliot didn’t even think it was worth arguing about that. That was one of those things that he was right about and Nicholas was wrong about and he would just resolve to be gracious when Nicholas came to admit it. Elliot said instead, “We have to get everyone to take the Blazer Picture off social media. The only place it can exist has to be on Emerson’s social media.”

“Fine,” Nicholas said from his bedroom. “If you think so. You’re the social media adviser, aren’t you?”

So Elliot composed an email to everyone he could think of who might have one of Nicholas's blazer pictures. He attached Emerson’s avatar to the e-mail for reference. He wrote:

_Hi, everyone! So, as most of you know, I’m in charge of social media for Hazel and_

He paused, looking at the blinking of the cursor on his tablet.

Nicholas said from the kitchen, where he’d re-disappeared from his bedroom, “Are you up for good now? Are you going to want coffee and a bagel?”

“Good coffee,” Elliot said, surreptitiously tapping over to Hazel’s Facebook. _In a relationship with Tim_. “It’s early in the morning, you should make us good coffee.”

“I always make good coffee,” said Nicholas.

“Uh-huh,” said Elliot, and went back to his email.

_Tim’s new podcast! Nicholas has decided to use a stage name for the podcast: Emerson James. You should follow him at thischarmlessemerson.tumblr.com and @thischarmlessem! Just remember not to connect Emerson with Nicholas. To that end, ALL PHOTOS OF NICHOLAS IN THE BLAZER FROM THE DAY OF THE WALDEN HIKE IN COLLEGE SHOULD BE DELETED FROM SOCIAL MEDIA. I’ve attached one of the photos for a reference. We want all blazer photo roads to lead to Emerson! Thanks! --e_

“You’re taking this seriously,” Nicholas remarked.

Elliot looked up to find him leaning against the kitchen door jamb, sipping a cup of coffee. “I said I would,” Elliot pointed out.

Nicholas smiled faintly, looking fond. “Yes, but you actually have your serious face on for once. Instead of your scheming face.”

Elliot said, “My face does not make all these different faces. You and Jane make that up.”

“It does,” said Nicholas. “It makes many different faces.”

“It makes one face,” said Elliot, sending the email. “It’s just one face.”

“Regardless, thank you for all of this.”

“All of what?”

“Emerson James. I wouldn’t have known where to begin to create a fake identity on the Internet. I would be alarmed that you know exactly how to create a fake identity on the Internet, except that you probably have at least half a dozen and several of them are probably in serious relationships with YouTube influencers and-or serious political columnists. Or talking about _Pretty Little Liars_.”

Elliot said immediately, “I don’t--What? _Pretty Little Liars_? I’ve never even _seen_ that show.”

Nicholas smiled and sipped his coffee and retreated into the kitchen again.

Elliot frowned and considered whether he needed to delete his _Pretty Little Liars_ Tumblr.

***

A week went by, and Elliot very dutifully did _not_ bombard Nicholas with questions about the recording session once they had it. He was pleased to note that Hazel sent him a short email thanking him again for letting them lease the studio for as long as they needed, and giving him a rundown on how it had gone, along with suggestions for the social media promotion. He very politely wrote back and thanked her while not bombarding her with questions, and then ignored all of her instructions about hashtags and whatnot. He’d already seen a few results from his forays onto Twitter and Tumblr; a few curious onlookers who surprisingly didn’t seem to be bots had already followed the accounts. And some bots, obviously. Elliot allowed the most aesthetic bots to keep following them. It upped their numbers, and even some pornbots had decent aesthetics every once in a while. Nicholas hadn’t updated his Tumblr yet, but Elliot figured that could wait. He contemplated going in and reblogging a bunch of pictures of cute puppies just to push most of his own _purely aesthetically driven_ reblogs out of sight. But it was way more fun imagining what Nicholas would do than trying to co-opt his brand completely.

At last came the day of the podcast release, and Elliot, who had put off doing the research on itunes distribution because it looked boring, wound up having to cry off work for most of the afternoon as he dealt with a series of insufferable technical whatsits. Nicholas wandered in that evening and found Elliot still railing about the indignities of metatags and a thousand other impossible tiny steps for publishing the podcast.

“But you published it, right?” Nicholas asked.

Elliot waved a hand. “Oh, sure, hours ago. But I’m still annoyed.”

He had in fact sent out an email blast to all of the actors—Nicholas hadn’t seen it yet because something something med school—and linked the recording from all of the social media outlets.

Nicholas wandered into the kitchen, and Elliot heard him open the refrigerator, but then he came back out into the living room without any of the craft beer that Elliot had been expecting him to snag.

He said, aiming for casual and missing it by a mile, “And what are people saying?”

People weren’t saying much of anything yet, because it took a little time for people to get ahold of a brand new podcast. Elliot had sent a link to it to a couple of influencers to try to nudge the process along, but it couldn’t be instantaneous, not even on the Internet, the episode still had to be _listened_ to.

And Elliot wasn’t nervous because Elliot had nothing to be nervous about: the podcast either did well and his friends had a hit on their hands, or it didn’t do well and everything went back to normal and Nicholas stopped having to professionally flirt with Jonah. But Nicholas was clearly nervous, which was probably something Elliot should have anticipated. Nicholas had been nervous about the press directly after _The Iceman Cometh_ , too. Then as now, Nicholas was starring in the show. Surely any comments about the podcast would be indictments on Nicholas's portrayal of Sébastien.

“Let’s play Fuck Marry Kill,” Elliot offered as the most obvious distraction technique of all time.

Nicholas recognized it, as Elliot knew he would, and laughed and sat on the couch next to Elliot, which he seldom did, because Elliot usually colonized it by sprawling as much as possible and Ian Purrtis usually took up the rest of the real estate.

Ian Purrtis stepped from Elliot’s lap over to Nicholas's to greet him.

Nicholas, scratching behind Ian Purrtis’s ears, said, “Fine. Who?”

“Richelieu,” said Elliot, because _obviously_ he was supposed to say Richelieu.

Nicholas laughed again, looking less nervous than he had, and Elliot was fine with being predictable in the service of that deserving cause. He said, over the sound of Ian Purrtis’s champion purrs, “I’d still fuck Richelieu.”

“Still the wrong choice,” Elliot said, shaking his head.

“You have the strangest head,” Nicholas said, and tapped Elliot’s temple with his index finger.

“Careful,” said Elliot. “That’s dangerous. My brain is an extraordinarily delicate and detailed machine.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Turing,” said Nicholas. “It might be an extraordinarily delicate and detailed _something_ , but it’s something irrational and ridiculous.”

“My brain is art instead of science,” Elliot allowed.

“Dinner?” said Nicholas abruptly. “Should we go out to dinner?”

Elliot had hours’ worth of work to theoretically catch up on and had assumed they’d order in so he could tunnel through it while Nicholas did homework, but Elliot changed his mind because clearly Nicholas needed to get out of the house and stop thinking about the podcast.

“Yes,” said Elliot. “Let’s go out.”

***

Elliot knew Nicholas had probably had someplace super-casual in mind, but Elliot steered him toward the Townshend and ordered him a mojito of his own accord. Elliot got himself the Hemingway Daiquiri just for the amused quirk of Nicholas's lips and then Elliot ordered them the mussels to split as an appetizer and Nicholas, plied by his terrible drink and the quality seafood, complained about school and Elliot listened and wondered, as he sometimes did, why Nicholas hadn’t chosen a career with a less lofty and more attainable goal than Saving As Many Lives As Possible. And then, of course, immediately dismissed the thought because Nicholas would have been absolutely miserable at any career with a less lofty and more attainable goal.

So Elliot let Nicholas have the lion’s share of the mussels and ordered him another mojito and let him talk and considered the bad fortune that podcast release day had occurred on a day when Nicholas had already been obviously keyed up because of other things. Most of the time, Nicholas loved med school. Most of the time, Nicholas brimmed over with enthusiasm. Nicholas loved his study group, and Nicholas loved his classes, and Nicholas loved his professors. It was just that sometimes it was frustrating. Nicholas, who demanded perfection of himself, found a key concept to be slippery in his head, or kept mixing up the names of two particular bones in the wrist, and on such days Nicholas was tired and frustrated and out-of-sorts, and on those days Elliot tried to find ways to get Nicholas out of the quicksand of his own head. Sometimes that was distracting him with a shenanigan, but sometimes it was just letting him talk his way through it, because sometimes things seemed smaller and more manageable if they were articulated.

“Do you want more mussels?” Elliot asked, when Nicholas mournfully replaced the last empty shell. “Or do you want dinner?”

“Has your phone been buzzing wildly?” Nicholas replied.

“Yes, but I’ve been ignoring it,” Elliot said. “You had important things to say.”

Nicholas smiled at him. “You have no idea what I just spent the last half-hour ranting to you about.”

Elliot shrugged. “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t important. Do you want to look at our phones and see what all the texts are about? Or do you want to order dinner first?”

Nicholas considered thoughtfully.

For so long that Elliot made the decision for him, since Nicholas was clearly going to dwell on it until he looked. “Look at your phone, Emerson James,” Elliot commanded, because sometimes, as Elliot had learned on _The Iceman Cometh_ , Nicholas just needed to be firmly directed.

Nicholas looked at his phone. Elliot did not look at his. He sipped his Hemingway Daiquiri and told himself that he wasn’t nervous and watched Nicholas's face as he thumbed in his password.

Nicholas scrolled through the incoming texts, and Nicholas smiled at his phone.

Elliot ordered them a bottle of champagne.

“So,” he said, sitting back and soaking it all in. “What do they say?”

Nicholas was still scrolling. “Not much, really, none of them are talking, but the numbers are encouraging.”

“Huh?” said Elliot.

Nicholas looked up. “Oh, you’re not looking? They’re mainly all Twitter notifications. From people following me. And the podcast, I guess.”

Elliot opened his phone and looked. Since the podcast had launched, 73 people had followed it on Twitter. He repeated this number in shock.

Nicholas beamed. “They like us!”

Elliot went to Tumblr and fumbled with the mobile app before giving up and going to the browser version, because why did he even bother with the mobile app (not that he was ever on Tumblr regularly enough for it to matter). The Time Ravel Tumblr had almost no followers compared to Twitter, but one lone follower...

“They reblogged us!” Elliot said.

“Well done,” said Nicholas, and then their champagne arrived and he toasted Elliot. “To your media savvy,” he said.

“To your consummate acting ability,” Elliot echoed, and they drank.

At some point, Nicholas checked his own Tumblr and discovered that Emerson James already had more followers than the Time Ravel podcast. He even had asks in his inbox.

“Here’s an anonymous one,” he read. “‘Love your voice, can’t wait for the next episode.’ Here’s one that just says, ‘omg you and the Mysterious Man are so hot together just let me die. Are you and Jonah hot in real life?’ Followed by six question marks.” He looked up. “Should I be concerned about that one?”

“Let me see that,” said Elliot, grabbing Nicholas's phone. He frowned at the ask. “No,” he said, and deleted it.

“Are you sabotaging my fandom?” Nicholas said suspiciously.

“No,” Elliot lied. “Finish your champagne.”

“Yes, dear,” said Nicholas, and did.

By the time they made it back to Nicholas's apartment, the number of followers had climbed. Elliot had figured out to check the hashtags to see if there was any buzz, and there was, a little. Feeling generous, he screenshot a few of the comments on Twitter and sent them to Hazel, who texted back shortly with a giant smile emoji and a thumbs up. A few minutes after _that_ , Jonah texted him with: _Thanks for promoting the podcast! Happy to see it’s already taking off._

“You were smirking at your phone and now you’re scowling,” said Nicholas, who was sitting next to him on the couch flipping back and forth between Bravo and HGTV like he was seriously contemplating whether _Property Brothers_ could offer him better life advice than _Say Yes to the Dress Atlanta_.

“I don’t get Jonah,” said Elliot. “Who even _talks_ like he talks?”

Nicholas shrugged. “That’s just his style. He’s all, you know. Acty.”

“Acty isn’t a real word, Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare made up words all the time, so I fail to see your point.”

“Right, but Shakespeare wouldn’t waste his words on Jonah.”

“Jonah is, however, a Shakespearean actor, so I imagine our friend Will would at least cut him some slack.”

Elliot slumped against the couch. “Is he really, though. He’s not, like, doing residencies at the Globe with Nicholas Stewart and Idris Elba. He’s more like, downloading virtual reality tours of the Globe on his Oculus and wanking to it.”

Nicholas turned and gave him a look.

Elliot shrugged. “Or it could be the Old Vic. Maybe he just does them one after the other.”

“Okay,” said Nicholas. “All of that was a mental image I didn’t need.”

Elliot narrowed his eyes, wondering if Nicholas was telling the truth about that. “Was it, though?”

Nicholas gave him an unreadable look that did not clear up whether Nicholas was going to download virtual reality tours of the Globe as some special Jonah-related porn now. “The point is: Jonah is working. He’s good at what he does and he likes it,” Nicholas said, yawning. “You should give him a break.”

“Urgh,” said Elliot. “Fine.” He texted back, _Glad to help_. And then, before he could think better of it, _You should put it on your Twitter. Talk to the fans._

A few minutes later, Jonah wrote back: _When I have fans, I promise I’ll talk to them all_.

Elliot scowled harder and turned his phone off for the evening.

“Hey,” said Nicholas. “I haven’t heard the ep yet, not all the way through. You wanna listen with me?”

Elliot thought of having to listen to Jonah be all... Acty with Nicholas and knew that he’d ruin Nicholas's evening if he tried it. That wasn’t going to happen.

“Nah,” he said. “I’ll just listen to it tomorrow, maybe use some parts of it for social.”

But the next day came and went, and then the next, and Elliot didn’t listen to the podcast.

Over the next two weeks, he stayed true to his word: he _had_ been glad to help, and this was all for Nicholas anyway, so he dutifully carved out a few hours a day to do the podcast promotion. While Nicholas went off to rehearsals and recordings with _Jonah_ , Elliot spread the hashtags around on Twitter and Instagram. He made a subreddit and invited some sci-fi and podcast fans to join. He went to the _Night Vale_ tag on Tumblr and invited fans to check out the new podcast; he found some _Doctor Who_ BNFs (not that Elliot knew what a BNF was) and invited them to preview the second episode in exchange for some free publicity. He even contacted a few Tumblr fanartists and asked them to design posters for the current and upcoming eps. Hazel got super excited about that part. And that was nice, really. Early on it was clear that Elliot’s prediction about the show’s calling card being the relationship between Sébastien and the Mysterious Man was spot-on. Fans were already starting to make fanart, and the fandom seemed to have already landed on a ship name: Mysterien. Elliot approved. He considered holding some kind of fanwork contest but decided to wait until things were a bit more underway.

What was less nice—what was, in fact, the worst—was that as the days passed and more people found the podcast, a distinct trend was emerging.

 _How cute are Sébastien and MM!_ _How do their actors get along IRL?_

_Can you talk about how you write Sébastien and MM’s relationship? Does it come from the script or are you influenced by how the actors interact?_

_I don’t know who I ship harder, Séb/MM or Ems/Jonah. Can we get pics of the two of them together???_

_Real talk: Jonah and Emerson are just as hot together as their fictional counterparts, right????_

_hai Jemerson OTP that is all_

And the thing was: Elliot had always been prepared for the fans, beautiful fledglings they were, to ship Sébastien and the MM—or rather, Mysterien. He hadn’t been prepared for them to ship _Nicholas and Jonah_. Even if they thought Nicholas was Emerson, there should have been some acknowledgment, surely, that the actors were just reading their lines, right?

But the fans tracked down Jonah’s Twitter and found Google Images of him from past productions and read between the lines of Emerson’s blog (which was, Elliot wanted to point out savagely, actually _Elliot’s blog_ ) and came to the conclusion of _Jemerson_.

Since he couldn’t exactly complain about any of this to Nicholas, he complained about it bitterly to Jane, who was unsympathetic. “You should be happy,” she said. “They’re excited! They’re just doing what fans do.”

When that did not work, he turned to Caroline, but this proved to be a bad idea because when he protested, “They think I’m Emerson! They want to ship _me_ with Jonah!” Caroline just sipped scotch and said, “Do _you_ want to ship you with Jonah?”

“Absolutely not,” said Elliot. “No one is getting shipped with Jonah. No one is getting shipped with anyone! This is reality! That’s creepy! Isn’t that creepy?”

“This would maybe be an objection if you hadn’t been shipping yourself with Tony Leung ever since I’ve known you,” Caroline said.

“That is _private_ ,” Elliot said emphatically.

“It’s not private when I have _watched_ you make one-night stand decisions based on what you thought was the likelihood they would gain you a lesser degree of separation from Tony Leung,” said Caroline. “Anyway, you’re not _really_ upset because of the fans.”

“You’re right,” said Elliot. “I’m upset because the fans think Jonah is some kind of epic Byronian hero when mostly he’s just a dork in a costume smoking jacket who teaches high school theatre and calls himself a professional actor because he once did a commercial with Thandie Newton.”

“You used to like Jonah,” Caroline said. “You know, when you invited him to come _live_ with you?”

“Is that your third scotch?” said Elliot. “I’m cutting you off.”

Caroline shrugged elegantly. “I’m just saying,” she said. “One day you’re going to figure out that it’s not that you hate Jonah, because you don’t hate Jonah.”

Elliot frowned and said, “Want to just play Fuck Marry Kill?” and Caroline said, “I’m not getting in your weird Richelieu thing with you, that’s a thing only Nicholas indulges,” and generally Elliot decided that Caroline was an unempathetic human.

Elliot maybe didn’t hate Jonah, but by the time the second episode came out, it was hard to distinguish what hating Jonah felt like from whatever the weird flare-up inside of him was whenever the fans sent him yet more messages about Jemerson.

By the time the third episode came out, Elliot knew instantly that something was different.

And not a good different. It was the _worst_. Elliot didn’t know what was the worst about it, because Elliot still hadn’t listened to any of episodes, but he did know that when he checked the #mysterien tag on Twitter over lunch, it was in utter meltdown mode.

_THE WAY EMERSON DELIVERED THAT LINE. I DIE. #mysterien_

_I would pay actual money for Emerson James to purr that way to me. Is that a thing we can do @thischarmlessem? #mysterien_

_MM is the luckiest in the whole universe, Sebastien_ _always sounds so *fond* when he talks to him. #mysterien_

_THAT ADORABLE LITTLE LAUGH @thischarmlessem @timeravelpod #mysterien_

_I am just going to listen to Emerson James say, “You’re being ridiculous,” over and over to bring about world peace. #mysterien_

Elliot frowned at his tablet and said to Ian Purrtis, “Is it possible I need to listen to this podcast?”

Ian Purrtis did not stir from his catnap in the sun. He was not being helpful with this decision.

Elliot debated and checked the time, because he didn’t want Nicholas walking in while he subjected himself to Nicholas and Jonah flirting outrageously for an hour, but it was still early and Elliot was safe and so Elliot ignored work and all other responsibilities, shutting down the social media so it would stop tormenting him, and pressed “Play” on “Mere Anarchy,” the first episode of _Time Ravel_.

Elliot had heard “Mere Anarchy” before, or the early version of it, at least, so he had some idea what to expect. And yes, it was worse than it had been in person, but he’d been expecting that. It was worse with Nicholas and Jonah having settled on their dynamic and committing to it confidently. Elliot would not have called them hesitant in the rehearsal he’d sat in on, but this was more polished and much smoother and Elliot knew the fandom had a point with Mysterien—Elliot himself had _started_ the Mysterien ship—but it was still annoying that he couldn’t sit and listen and think, This is terrible. It _wasn’t_ terrible. It was really good, and Nicholas and Jonah were compelling. The podcast medium worked well for both of them, because sitting and just listening to their voices felt incredibly intimate in a way that worked for them. They were telling a big story but they were telling it in a way that felt like it was whispering in your ear, like you were tucked up next to them, with a front-row seat in a world that was just the two of them, and it worked.

Elliot sighed and moved on to “Blood-Dimmed Tide” (Elliot might have to have a talk with Hazel’s boyfriend about these titles when he was telling a _love story_ ). Ian Purrtis had decided to move the site of his catnap from the floor to Elliot’s lap, apparently deciding Elliot was going to stay put for a while.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Elliot told Ian Purrtis, “how much worse can the next episode be, if I made it through that?”

It turned out: So. Much. Worse.

MM dropped into Sébastien’s life again the way he had before, but the problem was that this time Sébastien was basically waiting for him. Sébastien’s life wasn’t turned upside-down by the Mysterious Man’s appearance. Sébastien had actually been _bored_ and hoping he’d turn up. It made sense, given their dynamic, that Sébastien would be happy to see him, but it caught Elliot off-guard, because it meant that Nicholas as Sébastien sounded so much...happier.

Sébastien in the first episode, cautious and prickly, may have engaged with the Mysterious Man, but it had been sparring from a place of wariness. Sébastien in this episode had relaxed a lot more—he still had an edge, but now instead of sparring, it was... more like an invitation. When he spoke, there was a curl of warmth to the tone that made Elliot uneasy. Nicholas's voice melted in his ear, his consonants blurring slightly as Sébastien let down his guard and turned his sharpness toward seduction, and it was...distracting, and annoying, and hypnotic, and _effective_. Jonah in reaction shifted, and where Elliot had had the impression, in the first episode, that the Mysterious Man was calling the shots, Sébastien’s obvious table-turning and new confidence in the presence of this odd adventurer made the Mysterious Man seem even more sexualized. Elliot’s directorial notes to Jonah would have been _hitting the “banter” button way too hard_ , but at the same time it made sense given what Nicholas was doing with Sébastien.

There was an adventure, and things happened, and Elliot didn’t really know what any of those things were because he was listening to the tone of Nicholas and Jonah without listening to the words they were saying. The stupid fandom was right, Elliot thought, frowning. Nicholas was purring, and Nicholas sounded fond, and no wonder they wanted to pay Nicholas to keep talking. And then at the end, it was time for the Mysterious Man to go. He was talking about metaphysics, and vortices, and magnetic poles, and none of it made any sense, and Sébastien sounded so indulgently amused in response to all of it, and then Sébastien said to the Mysterious Man, “You’re being ridiculous,” and then Nicholas punctuated the line with his _Elliot laugh_.

Elliot froze into place, and then, because he was a masochist, he moved the episode back long enough to hear it again, and then he frowned. Because _that_ was, yes, clearly an Elliot laugh. Elliot knew Nicholas's laughs. Nicholas had plenty of laughs in his repertoire. Elliot knew his Elliot laugh and Elliot also knew that Nicholas had a million other laughs he could have used instead. And instead he used his Elliot laugh, on _Jonah_ , for the benefit of a million people on the internet. (Or 3,835 people on the internet according to the iTunes metrics, but still.)

Elliot’s point still stood, which was that…

Elliot didn’t know his point. It was...unacceptable, he supposed was his point. It was unnecessary. In _his_ opinion. But in Nicholas's opinion that was clearly not the case. Nicholas was a careful actor who made careful choices. Elliot knew this, Elliot had _directed_ him. Nicholas had _rehearsed_ this. Nicholas had _decided_ on this. _Deliberately_.

Elliot closed out of the episode viciously enough that he disturbed Ian Purrtis, who stalked off in search of calmer sleeping surfaces, and Elliot clicked over to his Twitter feed and looked at _THAT ADORABLE LITTLE LAUGH_ and promptly blocked that user.

***

Nicholas came home from work and said, “So Sébastien’s newest episode is a hit,” sounding very satisfied and pleased with himself, and didn’t even pretend to prevaricate before putting Blur on, that was what a good mood Nicholas was in.

Elliot glared thunderously at him from the couch.

Nicholas lifted his eyebrows at him. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing happened to me,” said Elliot.

“You are...glowering. Which actually isn’t something you do a lot and isn’t a good look for you.”

“I’m not glowering.”

“I thought you’d be happy,” said Nicholas, sounding perplexed. “The social media is glowing.”

“Yes,” said Elliot shortly. “I read all the tweets. It’s my _job_ to keep on top of your popularity.”

Nicholas's eyebrows lifted even higher, which Elliot would not have thought possible. He said, “Okay, you seem to have mistaken me for Sylvia Browne, except I have no idea what’s going on, so why don’t you tell me?”

“Nothing’s going on,” Elliot said. “We have a hit podcast on our hands. Everyone loves it. They want to pay money for you to say ‘You’re being ridiculous’ to them. Which is something I hear a lot from you, so I guess I should thank you for doing that for free all these years.”

Nicholas gave him a quizzical smile, and then what Nicholas did was Nicholas _Elliot-laughed_ at him.

Elliot was too infuriated to even _say_ anything in reaction to that.

Nicholas said, “I feel like you don’t know what to do with success or something. Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?”

“Yes,” said Elliot, veering suddenly from furious to miserable. “This was exactly what I wanted. You’re right.” He couldn’t even _argue_ with that, because Nicholas was _right_.

Nicholas cocked his head, now looking vaguely concerned, and said, “Okay, fine. Cheering up time, apparently. Do you want to play Fuck Marry Kill?”

Elliot sighed. “No, I don’t want to play--Wait. Yes. I want to play Fuck Marry Kill.”

“Okay.” Nicholas leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, looking indulgent. “Ask it.”

“The Mysterious Man,” said Elliot, with relish.

Nicholas blinked, clearly not having expected that. “What?”

“Fuck Marry Kill the Mysterious Man,” Elliot repeated patiently.

“You’re not going with Richelieu here?” said Nicholas, confused.

“I. Don’t. _Always_. Go. With. Richelieu,” Elliot bit out.

“I don’t know,” Nicholas said. “I haven’t thought about the Mysterious Man. I’ve had plenty of time to think about Richelieu. Anyway, the Mysterious Man is fictional.”

“Richelieu is _dead_. You’d still fuck him.”

“Pick someone else,” Nicholas said.

“Jonah,” Elliot said. “There’s someone non-fictional and non-dead. Fuck Marry Kill Jonah.”

Nicholas went still all over, and Elliot watched his expression turn into a look Elliot couldn’t really recall ever having seen on his face before.

“Are you asking me if I have a thing for Jonah?” he said slowly after a moment.

“Should I be?” Elliot snapped, even as a part of him wondered what the hell he was even _doing_.

“I don’t know,” Nicholas said, still in that same coldly even voice. “You seem to be really invested in my opinion about Jonah. Do I want to know why?”

“You _know_ why,” Elliot spluttered. “It’s because he’s Jonah and he’s pretentious and dumb and—”

“—and ridiculous,” Nicholas said, crossing his arms. “As in, ‘you’re being ridiculous.’”

Elliot stared at him. Nicholas looked back, and as the silence stretched between them it occurred to Elliot that for the first time in a long time he might actually be close to really pissing Nicholas off. And he wasn’t even sure _why_.

“It’s just,” he tried, floundering, “the podcast—you sounded...”

Nicholas let out a deep breath. “I’m not even thinking about Jonah on the podcast,” he said. “There, does that help with whatever, whatever _this_ is that’s going on with you right now?”

“I—right,” said Elliot, relief flooding him. “It’s just acting. I know that.”

“Of _course_ it’s just acting,” Nicholas said. “Remember when _you_ begged me to do this podcast because _you_ wanted me to act again?”

“And I do,” Elliot said hastily. “I want you to act and I want all those fans to adore you and I’m happy for you.”

Nicholas swallowed. He said, “I’m having a beer, you want one?” and ordinarily Elliot would say no because Elliot always said no to Nicholas's snooty craft beers, but at the moment he was so grateful that Nicholas was backing down from whatever had just happened here that he nodded. Nicholas turned perfunctorily and went into the kitchen, and Elliot followed.

“To answer your question, given the alternatives, I’d probably go with ‘fuck,’” Nicholas said as he bent over the refrigerator. He turned to hand Elliot his beer, and Elliot knew that he was watching him to gauge his reaction, and Elliot subsequently felt his cheeks burning, and Elliot took the beer and fumbled for the bottle opener in Nicholas's top-right kitchen drawer and opened the beer and took a long swig, all while Nicholas's eyes followed him around the room.

“Okay,” he said after he’d gulped down what felt like half the bottle.

“Okay,” said Nicholas, and reached out his hand for the bottle opener.

***

Elliot was awake all night, and didn’t really have to pretend to be asleep the next day when Nicholas woke up and went to work. Elliot dragged himself off the couch some time later, made himself his own terrible mediocre pot of coffee from Nicholas's terrible mediocre Whole Foods blend. It was the kind of day where he didn’t feel like he deserved the good stuff. He worked a listless half-day and then gave up and texted Hazel.

 _Hey_ , he said. _Was thinking I could come by the studio tonight, say hi? I’ll bring coffee ;)_

He was staring glumly at the winky emoji, wondering what price dignity, when she called.

“Hey!” she said. “Have you seen our download numbers? They’ve skyrocketed after last night’s ep.”

“Yeah,” Elliot said, remembering at the last minute to sound enthused. “I think the podcast got reblogged by Wil Wheaton.”

Hazel shrieked, and then fangirled Wil Wheaton for a couple of minutes while Elliot silently pleaded for Ian Purrtis to come to him and be petted. When Ian Purrtis just eyed him flatly from across the room, Elliot stalked over and picked him up and carried him back to the couch.

“You’ll enjoy tonight’s ep,” Hazel said. “It’s got the big romantic moment you wanted between Seb and Mysterio. I’ll send you the script in advance if you want.”

“Yes please,” Elliot blurted.

“Done.”

Elliot checked his email for the script, skimmed it impatiently, then went back and read it slowly, then read parts of it out loud.

Then he furiously deleted the script and slammed his laptop shut, and went to get ice cream and sulk until it was time to meet the others at the recording studio.

***

“Well, if it isn't La Divina, come to call on us,” Jonah greeted him when he walked in the door bearing Seattle’s Best. “Ooh, is that hazelnut? I'll take one for me and one for Hazel.” Then he stage-whispered, “Actually they're both for me.”

“Oh, golly,” rejoined Elliot. “You rebel.”

“Everyone has their weakness,” Jonah said, totally unruffled. “Don't they, Nicholas!”

“Hey, thanks for the coffee,” said Nicholas, and Elliot was definitely not about to mention that this was the first time they'd communicated all day. “We'll need it, the rehearsal for this ep had a lot of kinks.”

“Elliot’s still covering the extra studio hours if we need them,” Hazel reminded him.

“Oh,” said Nicholas, glancing back at him. “I’d forgotten about that.”

And Elliot didn’t even know what that meant. Was Nicholas still upset that Elliot was trying to buy love? Did the coffee Elliot was carrying count as buying love? Wasn’t buying love better than getting love through stupid smoking jackets and exaggerated Rat-Pack karaoke performances?

“Actually, Elliot, to thank you for all your hard work and to repay you for all the generosity, I was thinking,” Hazel said, and Elliot, hearing his name, made himself pay attention to her. “Since you’re going to be running the Patreon anyway, it would probably make things easier if I just started listing you as a podcast producer. That way we can make any financial decisions we need to make jointly, and I don’t have to feel bad about you just gifting us free studio time.”

“Well,” said Elliot. “If you insist.”

“My, my,” said Jonah. “It’s like having our own personal Medici patron.” Elliot held his gaze and took a blithely unconcerned drink of coffee even though it was extremely hot and Elliot hated extremely hot drinks.

Nicholas cleared his throat.

“So Jonah and I were thinking,” he said to Hazel, “given all the technical difficulties we had with the sound effects in the rehearsal, we should just not even bother. It sounded fake and we agree it would be more effective if we just went for it.”

“You mean—” Hazel looked back and forth between them.

Jonah laughed and dramatically flung his arm around Nicholas' waist. “Mon amour,” he said in an exaggerated accent.

“Oh, mon dieu!” said Nicholas in a lady’s shocked voice, and then, in his own, “is anyone filming this? Gotta cater to the Jemerson shippers.”

“I prefer Jonahson,” Jonah said, and Nicholas was still leaning into him and Jonah _still had his arm around Nicholas's waist_ , and Elliot snapped irritably, “You would prefer the version that has _your entire name_ in it.”

For a moment he thought he’d ruined everything, again; but then Jonah laughed, loudly, and Nicholas laughed, too, and then everyone in the room was laughing, except Elliot, and, weirdly, Hazel’s boyfriend, who was staring at Elliot _again_ and taking notes.

“You raise a good point, Elliot,” said Jonah. “I guess we’ll just have to give the fans what they want and let them figure it out.”

He smiled a sharp, sunny smile at Elliot, and Elliot drained all his coffee even though it meant he was going to have a scorched tongue for a week.

The scene that Hazel had been excited about, the big romantic moment, came at the end of this week’s episode, which Hazel’s boyfriend had titled, clearly ironically, “Ceremony of Innocence.” To retrieve a missing crucial piece of evidence they were missing in the week’s mystery plot, the Mysterious Man decided to risk his life in the midst of a labor riot, and he wasn’t about to let Sébastien come with him.

“You don’t get to make that decision,” Sébastien told him. “You don’t get to come into my life and send everything about it into upheaval and then decide that you get to say when enough is enough.”

“You say that as if I didn’t know you,” the Mysterious Man replied. “As if I didn’t know that you don’t have any limits. You think I don’t know you’d give whatever you could, and keep giving, to save this wretched city, if you thought you could?”

“I’m not talking about the city,” Sébastien said. “That’s not what I’m trying to save.”

The Mysterious Man laughed. “You’d do all that for someone you barely know? Someone you only just met a few weeks ago?”

“Why not? Everything you do for a crush is ridiculous. Why not this?”

At this, the Mysterious Man snorted. “You think having a crush warrants risking your life? Here’s what you do for a crush. You obsess over the day you first met him. You keep ridiculous photos of him lying around where probably anyone could find them, but you can't bring yourself to delete them. You pretend you don’t care what he thinks while you reshape yourself around him.”

As the speech continued, the Mysterious Man’s voice softened, grew increasingly tender. “You keep dumb momentos near you for the times he’s not there. You hear yourself defending his favorite band even when you don't even like his favorite band. You hear yourself trying to describe him to other people and it comes out like a sales pitch every time because that’s how you feel about him.”

Sébastien broke in. “You make a thousand foolish gestures he probably doesn’t even notice,” he said. “You go out of your way to make sure he’s a part of everything you do.” They looked at each other for a long electric moment. Elliot realized suddenly that he was watching Nicholas so closely that he’d stopped breathing.

“Is that what you do,” Sébastien said finally, a little breathlessly, “for a _crush_?”

At this point, the script called for the Mysterious Man to murmur, “Sébastien,” and then kiss him desperately—the first kiss of the podcast. From what Elliot could glean once he stopped privately fuming and started listening to the recording session, they’d tried simulating the kiss using a variety of piped in sound effects during the rehearsal, but everyone had hated the results—too superimposed, too awkward, too fake.

So instead, what happened was that at the end of that scene, Jonah stepped away from his microphone and over to Nicholas's, murmured, “Sébastien,” and kissed him.

Elliot had seen Nicholas kiss people before—usually onstage. He’d also seen Jonah kiss people before, also usually onstage. But he’d never seen Nicholas and Jonah _kiss each other_ before, which meant he’d never seen the way Nicholas's temple throbbed and his jaw slid open right before he deepened the kiss, or the way his fingers came up to tangle in Jonah’s hair when Jonah pulled him closer. He’d seen Jonah seduce an audience, but he’d never seen all that intensity up close, the way his eyes fluttered shut, the way he could wrap a person up in his embrace until they melted.

He’d never seen Nicholas melt before.

After an eternity, in which their kisses seemed to deepen and linger, and Elliot felt his insides turning over and over in knots because this was it, this was his best friend irrevocably changing and drifting away and taking everything with him, they pulled apart and gazed at each other. There was another fraught, electric pause in which no one at the studio moved, before Sébastien said, sounding wrecked, “So. Whoever you are. Whatever your name is. Given that I’d be making a fool of myself whether I stayed here or went with you, why shouldn’t I go with you, and keep you safe?"

Hazel leaned over and whispered in Elliot’s ear, “Isn’t it _amazing_?”

Elliot jumped, startled, having forgotten all about her presence next to him.

“People are going to _love_ it, right?” she continued, her eyes bright.

Probably, Elliot thought, objectively, everything that had just happened in that studio was totally amazing and lovable. Probably, objectively, the podcast producer in charge of social media should be ecstatic at how easily this was going to promote itself. He was going to be rolling around in Tumblr asks and Twitter @s. There would be hashtags galore. There would be more art and more fic and it was all probably a really good thing.

Elliot just wanted to die. There was Nicholas, melting for _entirely the wrong person_.  

Apparently they were done recording, because Nicholas's voice cut in, his Sébastien purr dropped. “How was that? Was that good?”

“That was _perfect_ ,” Hazel assured them enthusiastically. “It was so good. Wasn’t it good, Elliot?”

Elliot thought Hazel must be the least perceptive person on the planet not to realize that Elliot wasn’t in the mood to gush. “So good,” he said, with his best Cheshire cat smile, reminding himself that he wasn’t much of an actor, but he was very, very good at pretending to be _himself_.

“Do we need another take?” asked Jonah, deadpan. “Probably we need another take.”

“Ha,” said Nicholas. “You need to at least buy me dinner first. I’m no cheap date.”

“The lady has demands,” rejoined Jonah mildly.

“Indeed,” Nicholas agreed. He was flipping through his script. He was bantering with Jonah _automatically_.

Elliot rubbed at his temples. He had a vicious headache. It was probably the coffee he’d drunk too quickly. Next to him, Hazel’s boyfriend was scribbling away. What could be left to fucking write? Elliot thought, sourly. Elliot felt like Hazel’s boyfriend must have written everything in the universe by this point.

Kate said, “I think we should have a party. The season ends in two more episodes. We should have a party after the big finale.”

Elliot hadn’t even realized Kate was _there_.

Hazel gasped dramatically. “That’s such a great idea. Don’t you think that’s a great idea, Elliot?”

Why was Elliot involved with whatever parties Kate and Hazel might want to have? “Sure,” he said, bewildered. “Knock yourselves out. Just check with Blake that you don’t step on the toes of his monthly-weekly-whatever party.”

“No, silly.” Hazel actually gave him a little shove, looking like he was hilarious. “A _Time Ravel_ party. For all the fans. The local fans, at least. We have some, right?”

They had some. They tweeted at Emerson James wanting to know brunch recommendations, or bookstore recommendations, or the best place to bring someone on a romantic date. Elliot said, “Oh. Yeah. I guess. We could do that.”

“I think it would be fantastic,” said Hazel. “We, as the producers of the podcast, should throw a party!”

“That’s a good idea.” Nicholas looked at Elliot. “Does it give you enough time to plan it?”

Elliot could plan a kick-ass party in a couple of hours while mostly being drunk. He knew from experience. He gave Nicholas a look and said shortly, “Yes, it’s enough time.”

Elliot wasn’t sure what kind of look he’d actually given Nicholas—he didn’t feel especially in control of the many Elliot faces Nicholas and Jane claimed he had—but it made Nicholas narrow his eyes at him, in a way that told him he was thinking about... last night.

“What about the Patreon?” Hazel continued. “Is it all set to go?” Apparently Hazel hadn’t wanted him at any other Time Ravel gatherings, and now that he wanted nothing more than to go home, she was determined to keep him there for the rest of the time. No wonder Sébastien liked having a Mysterious Man swoop in to whisk him away from everything.

“It’s set,” Elliot said. “I’ll need the scripts you want to share, for the rewards. And we should probably do, like, some behind the scenes stuff. Commentaries and stuff.” Elliot had already written that into the reward levels, but he was suffering from a lack of enthusiasm for the idea at the moment.

“Oh, yes,” said Jonah heartily, “the infamous call-him-Emerson sessions. Much better than Waldo. Imagine, our couple name would have been Jaldo.”

“Or Jonaldo,” said Nicholas.

“So I’m going to call it a night,” announced Elliot, maybe a little too loudly, which made everyone look at him. “The podcast looks great. Sounds great. You know, the right word there. Everything’s going great. I’ll plan the party and I’ll get the Patreon in line and, you know, it’s all great.”

“Great,” said Hazel.

“Great,” agreed Kate.

Nicholas did not say a single word about the fact that he hadn’t said he was leaving, and Elliot hadn’t asked if he was leaving, and if they were going to the same place that would have made much more sense, that they ought to consult on their exit.

Jonah said, “I’ll walk you out. I should go anyway. I had to move some of the school rehearsals to the morning to accommodate the podcast.”

“And that is also great,” said Elliot. “Everything is so, so... great.”

Jonah looked amused because Jonah always looked so fucking amused, like life was Jonah’s own personal perpetual improv troupe, just for his own enjoyment. Nicholas looked annoyed. Hazel and Kate looked happily oblivious. Hazel’s boyfriend didn’t look up from his notebook.

Jonah said as they walked out, Elliot calling for a Lyft and biting back a curse when it said it was seven minutes away, “Don’t tell Hazel I said this, but I think the whole thing is better than I expected. Your suggestion to make Sébastien”—he dramatically pronounced the French, and Elliot suddenly wanted to punch him—“and his relationship with Mysterio into the focus was clearly the right one. Well done.”

Elliot was startled into laughing, because that was simultaneously the funniest thing and _un_ funniest thing about this whole situation, that this podcast had turned out to be a _hit_ and now Elliot was doomed to it for his foreseeable future. “Well, great,” Elliot said. “That’s another thing that’s great.”

Jonah just looked at him like he wasn’t fooling anyone, and Elliot checked the time on his Lyft and absolutely didn’t rise to the bait and ask him what he always seemed to think was so fucking funny. They stood by the curb together for a moment before Jonah shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, as if they were having some kind of moment, and said, “I wanted to tell you that I _solemnly promise_ to be better at Twitter for you.”

Elliot stared at him. Jonah grinned. He actually laid a hand over his heart.

Elliot said, “Are you grabbing a Lyft? Because there’s a cab right there I could flag down for you, if you want.”

Jonah ignored him. “I shall engage dutifully with all of my fans. And with Emerson James. We shall make Jemerson and Mysterien and Time Ravel huge successes.”

“That’s okay,” Elliot said tightly. “I’ve got the social media under control.”

Jonah said, “Funny, I thought you might say that.”

Elliot wasn’t sure why he hadn’t brought alcohol to the filming instead of coffee. What had he been thinking?

Jonah said, “However. I won’t have you bear all of the weight of this yourself. Especially not now that you have a _party_ to plan. And surely it will help things if Emerson and I just flirt a little bit over social media.”

“There is no Emerson,” Elliot said. “Emerson is Nicholas.”

“Fine,” said Jonah calmly, not taking his eyes off him. “If you prefer. I’ll flirt with _Nicholas_ over social media.”

No. Elliot didn’t prefer that at all. Elliot looked down at his phone. “Oh, look,” he said, “my Lyft is coming.” It wasn’t. It was still three minutes away. But Elliot was ready at this point to get into any random car that might slow down long enough for him to attack its passenger-side door.

“Well,” said Jonah, “I suppose that’s my cue to call for my own Lyft, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Elliot said shortly, annoyed Jonah was here, annoyed Nicholas hadn’t even come outside to _check_ on him, or ask where he was going, or if he was crashing at his place, or any of the many things they could have been talking about.

Jonah said, “Oh, look, six minutes away,” just as Elliot’s phone miraculously buzzed and he said immediately, “There’s my Lyft,” and almost ran into the road, leaving Jonah on the sidewalk, probably laughing his ass off because Jonah laughed at _everything_ Elliot did.

Elliot was a sullen and surly passenger all the way back to his own actual apartment, where luckily neither of his parents materialized before he ducked inside and immediately dropped into bed without turning any lights on. He was just going to lay in the dark and feel sorry for himself, he decided. It was a suitably dramatic activity for the remainder of the evening.

***

Ordinarily if Elliot couldn’t sleep, Ian Purrtis would come and purr on his stomach and maybe fall asleep there, and Elliot would lie there and pet him and think. But he couldn’t pet Ian Purrtis because Ian Purrtis was at Nicholas's, where Elliot was not, and so after an hour or two of listless tossing and turning, Elliot gave up.

And because Elliot was apparently a secret masochist, he turned his phone back on and went to read Time Ravel’s Twitter mentions. Most of it was the usual bevy of Mysterien and Jemerson shipping, but a few people were squeeing excitedly over what was, apparently, a new exchange between @thischarmlessem and...  

Elliot stared. He had never noticed Jonah’s annoying Twitter handle before because he had never noticed most things about Jonah before, but now it was staring back at him, adding insult to mounting injury, because Jonah’s Twitter handle was:

 _@letmejonahtainu_.

Elliot felt his face slowly crumple into a state of bleary-eyed revulsion. Did Nicholas know Jonah’s Twitter handle was a _Gypsy_ reference? Had Nicholas been thinking of Jonah when he was bantering with Elliot about singing “Let Me Entertain You” at karaoke night?

He forced himself to read through Jonah’s recent tweets and replies. Sure enough, he’d had an exchange with Nicholas—apparently not very long ago. Nicholas must not have been sleeping either.

Apparently not long after he’d gotten home, Jonah had tweeted out, _Hello to all new @timeravelpod fans! Be sure to follow @thischarmlessem if you haven’t yet!_

A few minutes later, Nicholas-as-Emerson had responded: _You’re up late. Don’t teachers have curfews?_

 _We had a big night tonight!_ , Jonah responded. _Now my brain’s full and my bed’s... lumpy._

Nicholas replied: _After all, he said to himself, it is probably only insomnia. Many must have it._

Elliot stared. Nicholas was quoting _Hemingway_ to Jonah now? Jonah who probably had never read Hemingway in his life, much less knew what to do with Nicholas sharing something like that with him at ass o’clock in the morning.

And he was right. Jonah clearly hadn’t known what to do with it. He’d replied a few more times with something bantery, but Nicholas hadn’t responded, and Elliot was about to close his phone in a kind of morbid satisfaction, when he noticed Blake replying below in the thread:

_You guys were so great this week! Can’t wait for the next ep!_

Elliot squelched an eyeroll, because Blake was great and did not deserve Elliot’s terrible mockery and lack of generosity just because he was always trying to fit in and always commenting everywhere and constantly sucking up to Jonah and—

Huh.

Elliot navigated over to Blake’s mentions and replies, and sure enough, as expected, he’d left a string of comments to Jonah over the course of his Twitter life, usually banal things like “great job!” whenever Jonah tweeted out some success or “looking forward to it!” whenever Jonah was promoting something. Elliot actually couldn’t find an example of a Jonah tweet Blake hadn’t responded to.

What the hell, he thought. Blake never interacted with _him_ this much on social media. How had he never noticed this before?

He thought back through their recent social interactions as he maneuvered to Facebook: Blake always sitting next to Jonah, engaging him in conversation, trying to get in on the podcast the moment he found out about it. When he looked through Facebook, he saw the same pattern: Blake _always_ commented on Jonah’s posts, even the dumb ones. And they were always serious, supportive, chirpy comments, none of the dry sarcasm Blake left on everybody else’s posts.

Elliot flopped over and stared up at the ceiling. There was only one obvious conclusion: Blake _liked_ Jonah.

There it was, he thought. His way out of the disaster that his life had become.

***

Like Nicholas, Blake had met Elliot in their first week at Emerson, only at the time Blake had been handing out flyers for his one-man stand-up show, to be held on the steps of Piano Row because no one would give him a venue. That one fact continued to sum up Blake in Elliot's head: he loved entertaining and he didn't really need much of an opening to get started.

Elliot couldn't really see what Blake of all people saw in _Jonah_. Elliot liked Blake because he was warm and friendly and funny and because he had absolutely no pretensions. Elliot was the kind of guy who lived over his parents’ garage because it made them happy; Blake was the kind of guy who just thought living at home was a normal non-embarrassing thing to do when you were a broke twenty-something. Blake was an opportunist; Jonah was smart, driven, determined to do what he wanted with his own career. None of these traits would put Blake within Jonah’s list of must-haves.

A flashback, unbidden, of Jonah’s fingers tightening around Nicholas's waist, Nicholas relaxing against him, arose to Elliot’s brain. He pushed it away.

And Blake was gregarious, generous in a way Elliot couldn’t fathom Jonah being interested in. Blake was the kind of guy who’d ask politely if he could put a story you told him into his routine. Blake was open. He had no layers. He never looked at you like he saw through you and wasn't sure he wanted to waste his time with what he found there. Blake liked people. Blake liked making people like him. Jonah just liked... well, actually, Elliot wasn’t sure what Jonah liked besides himself. And, probably, Nicholas.

When the sun had come up and Elliot finally had an excuse to give up on pretending to sleep, he stopped strategizing ways to matchmake Jonah and Blake and forced himself out of bed and into the shower.

When he got out of the shower, there was a text from Nicholas waiting. _It’s Wednesday. Am I actually going to be able to productively study from home without a barrage of stream-of-consciousness interruptions?_

Elliot considered. Elliot walked all over his apartment in an aimless circle and then thought, well, _yes_ , he had to go over Nicholas's. What else was he going to _do_? Was he going to just never go over Nicholas's again? The thought was absurd. He wasn’t going to stop talking to Nicholas because Nicholas was brilliant at what he did and also bantered with Jonah and also laughed in a podcast in a way that Elliot hadn’t liked. Like, thought of that way, Elliot was behaving completely nonsensically. If Elliot texted Jane and complained about Nicholas _laughing_ wrong, or right, or whatever, Jane would fly back from California specifically to hit Elliot in the back of his head. Elliot wasn’t making any sense, and Nicholas was clearly willing to let it all go, and Elliot should take that offer.

So Elliot texted back, _It’s an iced French vanilla sort of morning. Do you want anything from Dunkin?_

Nicholas's text in return was immediate. _Iced hazelnut, two creams, one sugar._

 _Done,_ Elliot promised, and took a deep breath. Done, fixed, good as new. They’d just...move on. Like normal. Like regular. Elliot and Nicholas. Elliotolas. Like they had been for years now.

Elliot met his father coming out of the house, who looked surprised to see him and said, “You’re up?” and made a dramatic show of looking at his watch.

“Yes,” said Elliot innocently, as if he made a habit of being up this early. “I had to grab some stuff.” He was completely empty-handed. It was the stupidest lie he had ever made up in an entire lifetime of stupid lies.

His father was so used to his stupid lies that he just said mildly, “Where are you off to? I’ll give you a ride.”

“Nicholas's,” Elliot said, yawning as he got into the passenger seat.

“And how are you?” asked his father politely, as if they were making small talk at a party.

“Good,” said Elliot. As if they were making small talk at a party.

“Do you want to elaborate?” his father asked. “Are you a hostile witness? Should I ask leading questions?”

“My life is complex at the moment,” Elliot said, because it was the truth, and because he didn’t know how else to elaborate.

“Your life is complex at all moments,” replied his father.

“It’s extra complex right now,” said Elliot, and left it at that.

His father, after a moment, said, “How was Pagu?”

Elliot had practically forgotten about Pagu. It felt like a lifetime ago. Elliot tipped his head against the passenger window and said, “Good. Thanks again for that. Jane was very happy.”

“I’m glad. I’m glad you enjoyed it. How is Jane settling in?”

“Fine,” said Elliot. “She likes it.” This was true. Jane had nothing but harsh assessments for all of her colleagues, which meant that she liked her job tremendously, because that was Jane for you.

“And how’s your job?” his father asked. “Is it...busy? Does it get busy?”

“It’s fine,” said Elliot drily. “It still pays me like clockwork, so it does its job as a job.”

“And how is Nicholas?” asked his father, as he turned down Nicholas's street.

“Nicholas is great,” said Elliot. “Nicholas is _so great_.”

His father pulled the car over and gave him an odd look and said, “Well, that’s good, I guess. Tell him I said hi.”

“Yeah,” said Elliot, opening the door. “Thank you for the ride.”

“Anytime,” said his father, and gave him a cheerful little wave before driving off.

Fuck, this day was already the Longest Day, thought Elliot, and dragged himself to the nearest Dunkin and got Nicholas his iced hazelnut and ordered his own iced French vanilla extra extra and then debated whether he should ring Nicholas’s doorbell and then decided he was being stupid and let himself in as usual.

Nicholas was at the table when Elliot walked in, with class notes open in front of him.

“Hi,” Elliot said, determined to be perfectly normal since everything was perfectly normal, and put Nicholas's coffee in front of him.

Nicholas said, “A Dunkin morning,” in a tone of voice Elliot couldn’t read but that seemed to contain a question.

“Much sugar was required this morning. And much caffeine. Both sugar and caffeine, in copious quantities,” said Elliot, and sat.

And sat.

Ian Purrtis came over to say hello, knocking his forehead chidingly against Elliot’s ankles, which Elliot was happy about since he’d missed him the night before and petting Ian Purrtis gave Elliot something to do while they continued to sit in silence and Nicholas studied.

Elliot watched Nicholas make notes for a few moments before carefully laying his pen aside and looking up as if he’d just noticed Elliot was there. “So,” he said. “It’s an iced French vanilla sort of morning.”

Elliot blinked at him.

“Ye–es?” he said slowly after a moment. Hadn’t they just gone over this? He took a long drink of his iced French vanilla.

“Right,” said Nicholas, still looking at him intently. “Because some mornings... you need the extra caffeine.”

“Are we secretly filming a taste test for Folger’s and Taster’s Choice?” Elliot asked.

Nicholas laughed, a little hollowly. “Sorry. Was just thinking I could use a little extra caffeine myself, is all.”

“Hence your iced hazelnut,” said Elliot. Then he added awkwardly, and hated himself for adding it, but couldn’t help adding it, “I saw you up late. Talking to Jonah.” Nicholas had picked up his pen and gone back to his notes, but at this he darted a sharp glance Elliot’s way. Elliot forced a smile. “Hemingway,” he said. It came out sounding a bit brittle.

Nicholas laughed that hollow laugh again. “Yeah,” he said.

And then they sat.

Again.

The silence was horrifying. Elliot tried to think of what he should do. He tried to think of what he usually did when he and Nicholas fell into awkward silences and couldn’t think of a single time this had ever happened. He could not remember a time when he and Nicholas had not been relaxed with each other; they had been instantaneously comfortable with each other upon first meeting. He could not remember a time when a silence between them wasn’t just a pause before the next tease, or the next nickname, or the next obscure quote, or the next game of Fuck Marry Kill. Elliot was in uncharted territory, and it was suffocating. He was basically the Roald Amundsen of this new Elliotolas metric, and being Roald Amundsen sucked. Elliot wanted back to his cozy, well-lived-in friendship with its metaphorical cheerful crackling fireplace and warm friendly books and impossibly squashy chairs to curl up in. He was used to Elliotolas being the Gryffindor Common Room of friendships; not, like, Snape's dungeon.

Elliot hunted for something to say, anything to talk about that wasn’t the podcast. A memory flashed through his mind, of Jonah’s hand tightening around Nicholas's waist. He shoved it away and helped himself to a maple-frosted donut.

“You know who else I saw talking to Jonah last night,” he said after a moment, careful to make sure he seemed totally wrapped up in his donut so it would sound like the most casual of all statements. “Blake.”

Nicholas said, “Yeah?” in the most disinterested way possible.

“Yeah,” said Elliot. “He does that a lot. Blake, I mean. He talks to Jonah. A lot. Have you noticed?”

Nicholas looked up slowly. “Blake talks to a lot of people a lot. He’s a chatty guy.”

“Sure,” Elliot said. “I know he does.”

“Does that bother you?” said Nicholas. His voice had gone odd again, and Elliot suddenly wished he hadn’t come after all, which was such a strange feeling that he drained the rest of his iced French vanilla so he could concentrate on anything else.

“I’m just saying,” he said. “Maybe there’s some kind of thing. There.”

“Between _Jonah_?” said Nicholas, with an incredulity that made Elliot wince internally even though it mirrored his own reaction. “And _Blake_?” He laughed. “Trust me, I don’t think that’s happening.”

“Well,” said Elliot stiffly. “Fine.”

“Anyway,” Nicholas said after a moment, more gently. “Jonah would probably tell me if that were the case.”

Elliot huffed out a laugh because he had no idea what to say to that.

Nicholas gave him a smile that was nothing at all like his Colin Firth smiles and said, “So I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Right,” said Elliot.

“Tell me about this party,” said Nicholas.

“Oh,” said Elliot, who had forgotten all about the party. ”It’s a party.”

“Illuminating,” said Nicholas. “Thank you for the clarification.”

Elliot looked at Nicholas, uncertain how to take that in the new Snape’s Dungeon / Frozen Arctic version of Elliotolas.

But Nicholas was smiling, a tiny hesitant smile like when Colin Firth first dared to hope after he ran into Jennifer Ehle at Pemberley after diving into the lake and breaking his nose in the underwater shoots for that _Pride and Prejudice_ miniseries Elliot had never seen, and Elliot, feeling ever so slightly warmer, settled enough to take what felt like his first easy breath of the day.

“It’ll be for the fans, of course,” and then he said, “You should help me plan it,” and Nicholas did.

They spent the morning discussing what sort of party to have, and where the venue should be, and even though Nicholas kept his notes open in front of him, he mostly did party-planning.

By ten am, Elliot had reserved Daedalus for the end of the following week and booked some sound equipment.

“We need music,” Elliot told Nicholas.

“What, now?” asked Nicholas, looking only too eager to put Blur on.

“No, for the _party_ ,” said Elliot.

“Why do we need music for the party?”

Elliot stared at him. “Why do we need music for the party? It’s a _party_. You have to have music for a party.”

“Is there going to be dancing?” Nicholas asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.”

“We can just make a Spotify playlist and—”

“No,” Elliot said forcefully. “I am vetoing your Spotify playlist recommendation. You are never allowed to make any Spotify playlists for any party ever again after that Fourth of July disaster.”

“It was a Fourth of July party,” Nicholas said. “I still don’t understand what was inappropriate about ‘God Bless the USA’ on a Fourth of July party playlist.”

“What made it inappropriate was we were trying to have a _fun_ party and that song is only appropriate for parties where everybody is tearfully crying into cheap beer while wearing hideous hats.”

“First, you can’t ‘tearfully cry,’ that’s redundant. Second, what sort of party has people wearing hideous hats?”

“Parties with ‘God Bless the USA’ being played at them. I’m going to call Evan and see if he wants to come up to DJ. He’s good at it and it would be nice to see him and that way he can feel involved with our podcast shenanigan, too.”

“That’s actually a good idea,” said Nicholas. “He can bring Anna if they’re on-again.”

“I think they’re off-again?” said Elliot. “But in that way where they want to be on-again but are trying to just do the friends thing, but not in a way that would prevent him from bringing Anna, because they can be all, this is a social group thing and not a we’re-on-again-thing.”

“Until they wind up making out in the hotel room,” said Nicholas.

“Exactly,” agreed Elliot.

So Elliot called Evan and asked him if he wanted to DJ at an amazing party.

“Wait,” said Evan, “is this for the podcast thing? Is that, like, popular or something?”

“Evan!” said Nicholas, because Elliot had put Evan on speaker, “yes, it’s popular! How have you missed this with Hazel posting about it on Facebook like every day? We got recommended in the _Globe_! We were a podcast of the week!”

“Emerson James almost has as many followers as Ian Purrtis now,” said Elliot.

“Who?” said Evan.

“What?” said Nicholas.

“Emerson James, Nicholas's podcast-acting alter ego,” Elliot said.

Nicholas said, “Go back to how Ian Purrtis has _followers_?”

“Anyway,” said Elliot, ignoring Nicholas's inquisitive hand gestures toward Ian Purrtis, “hashtag-mysterien is pretty unavoidable in the worthwhile social media circles these days.” Nicholas snorted. Elliot ignored that, too. “It doesn’t say good things about your social media habits that you’ve missed it.”

“Hello, in _SOHO_ , here,” said Evan. “You know, bartending as I try to make it as a professional actor?”

“See,” said Nicholas, “Let me stop you, because Elliot is about to ask you why you’re so hung up on the difference between professional and amateur acting, and then you’ll be annoyed because no one asked you to come be in our podcast, but it was because we knew you wanted to pursue your career, because contrary to what Elliot thinks, professional actors work way harder than amateur ones so all of his objections, which he is now not going to voice, are moot.”

“Hmph,” said Evan. “Okay, fine. I’ll come be your DJ. But only if you promise to come to my next show. Whatever it is.”

They duly promised, and Elliot told Evan he should bring Anna, and they were subjected to a painfully awkward attempt on Evan’s part to pretend he was just bringing his _friend Anna_ with no possible future making-out implications, and Elliot checked another item off his Party Planning List. Then he designed art announcing the party, sent it through the phone chain, and circulated it on social media.

“So,” said Nicholas suddenly. “This party. I’m...going to be Emerson James at this party.”

Elliot looked up from his phone. “That’s the idea.”

“People are going to _meet_ me,” Nicholas said. “Doesn’t that...kind of go against the point of being Emerson James? People will take pictures of me and they’ll end up all over social media.”

“That’s a good point,” said Elliot, who hadn’t really thought that through. He looked at Nicholas and said, “Well? It’s your identity at issue, and your persona. What do you want to do? We can maybe back away from the party idea, or just not have Emerson James go to it.”

“Or,” said Nicholas slowly. “You could help me pick out some sort of, I don’t know, disguise. Make sure I go to this party as Emerson and not me.”

“No one knows what Emerson looks like,” said Elliot.

“Exactly.”

Elliot considered. “So this is an opportunity to...be someone else? To be Emerson instead of Nicholas?”

“A little bit of dress-up,” Nicholas said. “A little bit of masquerade. It could be fun, right?” Nicholas gave him a smile, unexpectedly small and tentative, since they’d spent the whole morning reconciling so Elliot thought they’d moved past tentativeness. But Nicholas said, “I put Emerson in your hands, Professor Higgins,” and Elliot understood the tentativeness. Emerson had been in his hands pretty much from the beginning, but that had been abstract pixels on the Internet. This was...Nicholas’s actual body. At Elliot’s disposal.

Elliot, dry-mouthed, cleared his throat and managed, “Let’s go shopping.”

***

Elliot took Nicholas to Zegna, because shortly after _Inception_ had come out he had fallen temporarily in lust with Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and had determined that if he couldn't have JGL, he could at least have JGL's suits. The result of this life lesson was that he innately knew that Nicholas needed to be madeover by way of a $3,000 dark grey Zegna, and they could handwave the details or whatever after he successfully got Nicholas into it.

Nicholas in Zegna was like inserting a thumb drive in right-side-up the first time.

Elliot said, “Give me a twirl, Tim.”

“Tim?” said Nicholas.

“Tim Dibble,” said Elliot. “A famous model for Zegna.”

“That sounds fake, but okay,” said Nicholas. And then he lowered his voice, as if the hovering sales associate might somehow not hear him, and said, “This suit is three thousand dollars.”

“Yes,” said Elliot. “Because the suit is _amazing_.”

“Elliot, I’m not going to--”

“You deserve this suit,” Elliot said. “Don’t you feel amazing and all-powerful in this suit? Don’t you feel like _Emerson James_ in this suit?”

Nicholas said, “Elliot, it’s--”

And Elliot said, “I’ll help finance it. I’ll pitch in. I’ll help with the suit.”

There was a long moment of silence before Nicholas said, “Elliot,” in a tone of voice, gentle and soft, that made Elliot look at him.

And Elliot wanted to say, _Jonah can flirt with you and kiss you and fling sex at you and it makes you melt. I can’t out-Jonah Jonah. All I can do is buy you this gift. Buying people things to make them like me: that’s what I do, remember?_

But Elliot also didn’t want to say any of that. Elliot wanted Nicholas to just...let him buy him the suit, the best gesture Elliot knew for _You’re important to me and what we have is important to me and I don’t want to lose you_.

Elliot said, “Let me get you the suit.”

Nicholas studied Elliot, looking thoughtful. Then Nicholas said, “Okay.”  

***

Nicholas was less amenable to being dragged to Elliot’s favorite tailor.

“A,” he said, “how do you _have_ a _favorite tailor_ like you’re a Kingsman, and B, this suit just cost three thousand dollars and I still have to get it tailored?”

“Yes,” said Elliot, for that was How It Was Done.

Elliot’s tailor mostly silenced Nicholas's objections by being terrifyingly efficient with his tape measure, which was why he was Elliot’s favorite tailor. From there on, Elliot took pity on Nicholas and just, like, let him go to Neiman Marcus for new shoes and a belt.

Elliot suggested celebratory drinks and Nicholas said, “What are we celebrating?” and Elliot thought, _That we had a whole best-friend day and we didn’t have to talk about Jonah once,_ and said instead, “We are celebrating Emerson’s aesthetic,” and they snagged a table on the patio at Piattini.

Nicholas said, sipping the Patio Punch that Elliot had ordered for both of them, “Tell me about Ian Purrtis.”

Elliot perused the menu and said innocently, “Ian Purrtis is your cat. We’re not sure how old he is because he lived a very exciting life as a stray before—”

“I don’t want to know Ian Purrtis’s Wikipedia—wait, does Ian Purrtis have a Wikipedia?”

Elliot gave Nicholas a look. “No.”

“Don’t act like that’s outside the realm of possibility. Now that I have discovered that you have turned my cat into an Internet celebrity.” Nicholas flourished his phone, where Elliot could see his latest post on Ian Purrtis’s Instagram.

“He isn’t an Internet celebrity,” said Elliot. “He’s a minor one at best. Don’t mention that to him. He’s very sensitive about the fact that that stupid Grumpy Cat is a bigger deal, especially when Ian Purrtis is _clearly_ a better cat than Grumpy Cat.”

Nicholas looked amused, and Elliot waited for the comment about how _very much_ Elliot loved Ian Purrtis and how obvious it was from his constant artfully composed photographs of Ian Purrtis on Instagram, but Nicholas just said, “Can you tell Ian Purrtis’s followers to follow Emerson James? We might as well get some cross-marketing going.”

“I haven’t decided if Emerson James is worthy enough yet to be outed as Ian Purrtis’s person,” said Elliot lightly.

“Really? Well, Emerson James now has a really gorgeous suit that Ian Purrtis is clearly going to destroy within two seconds of—”

“You can’t wear that suit in Ian Purrtis’s presence,” Elliot interrupted hastily. “Not the first time. You have to show up at the party _sans_ cat hair. That’s Emerson’s aesthetic: cat-hair-free.”

“Ian Purrtis will be offended.”

“I’ll stop by your place to give him a cuddle before the party,” Elliot offered, “so he doesn’t feel left out.”

“You’re a very beneficent individual,” said Nicholas.

“I do try,” agreed Elliot.

“I’m just saying that surely a person with a brand new Zegna suit is worthy of being the person who belongs to Ian Purrtis.”

“Hmm,” said Elliot thoughtfully, surveying Nicholas across the table from him, the dramatic chiaroscuro of him in the setting sun, the cheerful amused smile on his lips that made Elliot want to call for more cocktails and settle in and live in this exact moment for the rest of time. Aesthetically, Elliot thought, _amused in the setting sun_ was a good look for Nicholas. It would work on the roof deck at Daedalus. It would be excellent lighting for Nicholas, and Elliot would track down the perfect tie to bring out Nicholas's eyes, which Elliot was convinced Nicholas almost deliberately hid because they were _so_ striking when played up and if Elliot had eyes as striking as that he would do nothing but bat them at everyone around him at all times.

“I feel like you’re almost ready,” mused Elliot.

Nicholas had been watching the Newbury Street crowds come and go but turned back to Elliot at that. “Almost ready to belong to Ian Purrtis? I didn’t know I was still on trial status.”

“Almost ready to be Emerson James,” said Elliot. “You just have to let me do something with that baby politician hairstyle of yours.”

Nicholas said mildly, sounding fond, sounding the way Nicholas had always sounded when he talked to Elliot and Elliot hadn’t realized how terrified he was of losing that and how important it was to keep that up until just that moment, having it back again after a night away from it, “Should I be alarmed that I told you you could make me over and you immediately pulled out a mental checklist of exactly what you wanted to do to me? How long have you had this mental makeover list for me?”

Elliot wanted to take that tone and wrap up himself in it like Nicholas's blanket at night; he wanted to hold it close and let it purr to him the way Ian Purrtis did; he wanted to say, _That tone, right there, that’s not a_ _Sébastien tone, don’t use it that way, that’s an Elliot tone_. He said instead, surprising himself, “I haven’t. I really wouldn’t change anything about you.” It was a True Thing, maybe the truest, most honest thing Elliot had ever said to Nicholas, and it wasn’t the way they communicated, straightforwardly instead of through veiled coding, and Nicholas blinked, looking surprised and then almost confused. But Elliot _wouldn’t_ change anything about Nicholas. He had spent the whole day developing Emerson James’s aesthetic but he was very happy to be seated opposite Nicholas’s recognizable Nicholasness. Nicholas- _cum_ -Nicholas was the most vitally important thing in Elliot’s life, precious beyond belief, and that’s why he was always _so fucking careful_ to maintain its balance, to keep it, instead of smashing it as thoroughly as he seemed to smash so much around him with blase thoughtlessness. And Elliot didn’t know how to say that--had never known how to say it--and didn’t know if Nicholas was getting it now, and if Nicholas would understand it if said, and if Nicholas would be alarmed (which was why it never got said).

Nicholas took a breath and said slowly, “Elliot…”

And Elliot didn’t know what came next after that. _Elliot, I see though you like a freshly-gleaming piece of Baccarat crystal and you’re pathetic, please stop nursing this hopeless crush you’ve had on me for years, I want to let you down easy._ Or, _Elliot, I’m in love with Jonah and everything is about to change and you’re going to have to move out and we’ll basically stop talking to each other because this isn’t healthy_. Or, _Elliot, that’s a weird thing to say to your best friend, what the hell?_

The waiter came, and Elliot pactically leaped upon him in his haste to place his order, and after he left, Elliot, conscious of Nicholas’s thoughtful gaze on him, dialed back his previous statement and said, deliberately casually and hopefully not at all with panicked haste, “I really wouldn’t change anything about you except for your terrible clothes and your horrible hair.”

Nicholas, after a moment, Elliot-smiled, and then Elliot-laughed. And then he said, “I wouldn’t change anything about you, either. Do you know that? I keep trying to make sure you know that.”

“I know that,” Elliot said, feeling unbelievably embarrassed that they were talking about this, but he _did_ , he knew that Nicholas liked him, Nicholas was an unfailingly thoughtful best friend to have, Nicholas wrapped him in comforting assurances, was so gentle and careful with him, like a treasured Ming vase that Nicholas protected. Nicholas was the only person Elliot had ever met who put up with him so cheerfully, who mocked him and rolled his eyes with that special light touch that made Elliot turn toward him instead of wincing inward. Elliot had clung to the way Nicholas made him feel, adored and beloved, as if he was a _good person_ , since the day he had tumbled into it, and that was part of the panic, that he would do something to throw that off, something terrifying like lean across the table at the patio at Piattini and kiss Nicholas and say, _Everything we’ve had all these years might not be enough, and I might want more, I might want_ everything _in the entire universe from you, I might want to eat you alive, to crawl under the covers with you and make your bed my entire world, to lay hands on you and make you sigh my name and know how that sounds, to have a naked Elliot-smile from you_. All of these things Elliot wanted, with the innate and instinctiveness selfishness of his personality that he tried to keep in check when he was with Nicholas, and Nicholas might--Nicholas might--

Nicholas said, “Anyway, the masquerade party,” changing the subject.

Elliot hadn’t realized he was holding his breath in the terror on the cusp of Everything Falling into an Abyss until he let it out in relief. “It’s not really a masquerade party.”

“I get to pretend to be somebody else,” Nicholas said. “That makes it a masquerade for me.”

“How is Emerson James going to differ from Nicholas?” Elliot asked lightly. “Other than better clothes and better hair, of course.”

Nicholas didn’t laugh, which had been Elliot’s intention. Nicholas said, “You should try it, too.”

“Try what?” Elliot asked blankly.

“Being somebody else. For the masquerade.”

“Who would I even be?”

“You could cosplay as the Mysterious Man,” Nicholas said slowly. “I’ve been thinking that...there’s something very Mysterious Man about you.”

“No, there isn’t,” Elliot said, appalled. “I’m not at all like Jonah.”

Nicholas smiled. “That wasn’t what I meant. It’s fine. Don’t do it if you don’t want to. It’s just...you’ve never really enjoyed acting. And I feel like it’s because you never exulted in the play of it. Embracing being somebody else, for just a little while, can be...well, fun. As I said.”

It was a little beyond Elliot, how it was fun to be somebody else when it was so exhausting just working on being _himself_. But because it was clear Nicholas believed that, and because there was something hopeful about Nicholas’s expression, Elliot said, “Okay. Yeah. I’ll think about it.”

***

Elliot Skyped Jane, and let her rant about her job, and then said, “Come to Boston for a visit next weekend.”

“Mmm,” said Jane, taking a drag of her cigarette. “I would _love_ to.”

“Good. We’re having a podcast party. You should fly in for it. You can crash at my place. It’ll be like old times.”

Jane looked amused. “I never crashed at your place in the old times. You always crashed at mine.”

“Semantics,” said Elliot, waving his hand around negligently. “I rented out the Daedalus roof deck. Evan’s coming to DJ. Anna is also coming because she and Evan are pretending they’re not going to make out at some point over the weekend.”

“Ha,” said Jane. “This is a fantastic pitch if ever I heard one from you. Sold.”

“Good,” said Elliot. “It’ll be fun.”

Jane looked at him, and only Jane could make peering at him through a Skype screen seem like the most perceptive look of all time. She said, “Are you okay? You seem a little more manic than usual.”

 _I’m on weird footing with Nicholas that I can’t figure out how to navigate, and maybe he’s falling in love with Jonah and I’m going to lose him forever, but I still can’t figure out how to say anything to him because then I might definitely lose him forever, and can you just come back and make everything be like it was before the podcast_ , seemed like overkill to say.

Elliot said, “I’m fine.”

***

There was a weekly-monthly Blake party planned for the night before the podcast party. Jane hadn’t been able to take that much time off of Google, so she was missing the weekly-monthly Blake party but Anna and Evan would be there. Normally Blake parties were as weirdly eccentric as parties at one’s parents’ house could be. They would get there and Blake would have set up velvet ropes and take them on a tour of his parents’ house like it was Graceland or something. Or they would be told to sit all around the edge of Blake’s parents’ pool with their feet in the water tossing cantaloupes back and forth. Whatever they were, Elliot had little say in planning them. He just showed up with a pink drink pre-mixed and engaged in whatever performance art Blake had decided upon.

So he was a little surprised to get a call from Blake a couple of days before Blake’s party, while Elliot was rearranging his phone apps into aesthetically pleasing patterns to procrastinate sending yet another email saying the same goddamn thing for the sixth time to a particularly obtuse client.

Elliot answered curiously, and Blake said, “Hey. So. I was wondering if you need any help with the podcast party, maybe?”

“No,” said Elliot honestly. The podcast party was entirely set and had been for days at this point. Only Blake would think Elliot would have waited until the last minute to set it up.

“Oh,” said Blake. “That’s cool.” Blake lapsed into silence.

Elliot lifted his eyebrows and then thought that maybe, weirdly, the universe loved him _so much_ that it was dropping this amazing opportunity in his lap. “Blake,” Elliot began.

Blake cut him off. “Did you hear Jonah landed a job at A.R.T.?”

“Yeah,” said Elliot, who didn’t care. “About Jonah--”

“Do you think Jonah’s sleeping with Nicholas?” said Blake.

Elliot choked. On air. But breathing the wrong way and causing yourself to choke was perfectly understandable, Elliot thought.

“You okay?” Blake asked quizzically, as Elliot engaged in his not-at-all ridiculous coughing fit.

“Fine,” Elliot rasped out. “Fine. Why do you think Nicholas is sleeping with Jonah?”

“Well, I guess... not sleeping with him, more like... slept with him.”

Was that better? Was that worse? Elliot didn’t even know. What was even the fucking difference? “What?” said Elliot, sounding strangled, which was fitting, since he still wasn’t breathing properly around his coughing.

“I didn’t know if, like, that was a thing that was happening. Or had happened. And you know Nicholas really well. So.”

“Why are you so interested in Nicholas and Jonah?” Elliot asked. “What makes you think they’re sleeping together? Did Jonah say something to you?”

“No.” Blake snorted. “Jonah definitely did _not_ say anything to me. Look, I was just wondering if there were advantages to seeing Jonah naked.”

“What advantages?” said Elliot, and then remembered his initial scheme with regard to Blake before getting completely thrown off-track. “Do _you_ want to see Jonah naked?”

“Would it help me land a repertory gig?” asked Blake.

Elliot paused to absorb that, confused. “Would it what?”

“I mean, I don’t know,” said Blake, which wasn’t the most eloquent thing Elliot had ever heard. “I just didn’t know how method Jonah is. Is he very method?”

“I have no idea,” Elliot said, because he did not want to think about how method Jonah was being about playing the love of Nicholas's life.

“Do you think he would like a vase?”

“A vase?” echoed Elliot. This conversation was making Elliot wonder if he’d accidentally drunk absinthe at some point that day.

“Do you know how Jonah’s apartment is decorated? You’re really good with aesthetics. I thought you might have an idea about what kind of vase Jonah might like.”

“Why are you getting Jonah a vase?” asked Elliot carefully.

“Because he... might like a vase?” suggested Blake.

“This is the worst way to get into someone’s pants that I have ever heard anyone ever discuss,” said Elliot. “You’re the worst at this.”

“ _I’m_ the worst at this?” said Blake, sounding indignant. “I’m not trying to get into his pants! I’m trying to get a job!”

“You could do both,” said Elliot.

“That’s why I asked if—”

“Look, Jonah doesn’t want a vase,” said Elliot.

“Fine. What do you think Jonah wants? I want it to be something, you know, unique and artsy, like Jonah.”

“Like Jonah,” echoed Elliot, stopping himself from snorting just barely. _Unique and artsy, like Jonah_. One of a kind, thought Elliot, that was Jonah, with his smoking jackets and his weirdly formal way of speaking and his way of insisting that the most ridiculous things were actually amazing—“You know what you should do?” Elliot said. “You should get him some modern art.”

“Like, a print?” asked Blake quizzically.

“No, not a print, _anybody_ can get somebody a print. This is going to be... incredibly unique modern art. You know. Like performance art or something.”

“You want me to get Jonah a performance? Like, an audition?”

“No.” Elliot huffed out a frustrated sigh. “I want you to get him something as ridiculously Jonah-y as possible, because Jonah is the most ridiculous. Like, you could throw some ice cubes into a glass and call it a modern art sculpture about the fleeting nature of life. That’s the kind of ridiculous thing Jonah would love.”

“Oh,” said Blake brightly. “You’re totally right! That’s a great idea! Thanks, Elliot! I knew you would have a great aesthetic idea!”

And then Blake hung up.

And Elliot said to Ian Purrtis, “Is he going to get Jonah ice cubes? Is that going to help my plan to get Blake and Jonah together so that Jonah stops pawing at Nicholas? What the fuck even just happened?”

Ian Purrtis licked his paw.

Elliot was still wondering what Blake’s plans for Jonah were, and if he even _needed_ to matchmake the two of them since Blake seemed determined to do it on his own, when he and Caroline and Nicholas Ubered to Blake’s house the night of the party. It instantly became clear what Blake had done with Elliot’s suggestion to get Jonah ice cubes, because Blake’s swimming pool was now _full of giant floating blocks of ice cubes_.

“Elliot, I told you to double-check the address before you gave it to the driver,” Caroline said calmly as she floated out of the car. “We’re clearly at the wrong house.”

“Should we take the wine we brought inside?” asked Nicholas, in a strained voice. “Or should we put it in the pool?”

“Oh, thank god, people,” said Jonah, rushing up to them as they walked up to the entrance. “I got here early and now I can’t escape.”

“Do you know what _this_ is?” said Nicholas, waving to the swimming pool while Caroline and Elliot looked on, agape.

“I have no idea,” said Jonah. “But he won’t stop asking me if I _like_ it. I don’t know. Do I like it? Does that matter?”

“It’s okay, Jonah,” said Elliot, having found his voice with difficulty. “Not everyone has an eye for great abstract art when they see it.”

“Is... is that what this is?” Jonah sounded too confused to be snarky, which was an odd sound for him, and when Elliot looked over he found him exchanging dubious glances with Nicholas.

“It’s just that I like to make Blake fetch me drink ingredients,” said Elliot, “so he’s saving time by making sure the ice also doubles as a statement.”

“Are you insulting the art now?” asked Jonah. “I can’t even tell.”

"It was more art,” said Elliot. “That was me in conversation with Blake's art."

“Hey, yeah!” said Blake, stepping out to greet them. “That’s a nice way to put it, Elliot. It’s like—what do they call it. Remix culture!”

“Is it a remix if the original source is melting?” asked Caroline.

“Sure, bro,” said Blake. "Like, the one percent would have told me to get my ice in little freaking cubes, you know? But why should I have to do that? We can control the demand _and_ the supply of ice.” He spread out his hands. “We’ve got all the ice _right here_.”

“And throughout the evening,” Elliot said, getting into it, “Blake's ice can take many different forms. Like when I go throw it in the blender. It gains new life as a mudslide.”

“I’m not sure you should be encouraging this,” Jonah hissed, narrowing his eyes at Elliot.

Elliot grinned at him. “Nonsense,” he said. “Blake wants me to interact with his ice. I’m interacting.”

Jonah gave Elliot a look that clearly said he had doubts that Elliot had ever interacted with art—or possibly with other human beings—in his life.

“Besides,” Elliot said grandly, “a little birdie told me he did all this for you. Maybe _you_ should be interacting with it.”

Jonah’s expression in response was priceless. Elliot went inside to chill all the wine. When he came back out on the patio, Evan and Anna had showed up and they were exchanging hugs with Caroline and Jonah, and Blake had commandeered Nicholas. Elliot recognized this instantly because Nicholas was shooting Elliot a look that begged for rescue.

"Hey,” Blake was saying when Elliot joined them. “Did you have to sleep with Jonah to get the Sebastian thing?"

Elliot didn’t know if he should turn around and pretend he’d never joined this conversation, or if he’d joined it just in time.

“Did I— _what_?” said Nicholas. “Why would I have to—what?”

"I’m just asking,” said Blake. And then: “How bad was it? Relatively speaking."

"I'm not talking about this,” said Nicholas, going red. Elliot could feel his own face following suit.

"Oh, my God,” said Blake. “It wasn't bad at all, was it? It was really good, wasn't it? Dammit." He started pacing as though this was a serious situation to mull over. Nicholas and Elliot stared at him and then at each other.

"Like was it a six beers kind of thing?” Blake asked at last. “Or was it more casual?”

“This is _not a thing that has happened_ ,” said Nicholas firmly. “There’s Jonah. Feel free to ask him.”

“Hmm?” said Jonah, coming over. He rested his elbow on Nicholas's shoulder, and Nicholas _let him_.

Blake looked between the two of them and said, "So, do you guys do, like, a method thing where you pretend to be in love with each other because Sebastian and the Mysterious Man are?"

“No,” said Nicholas, at the same time Jonah said, “That’s flattering, but I think Mysterien’s relationship is much more complex than that!”

Blake looked confused by this, and Elliot, fearing Jonah was about to launch into a diatribe on just what made Mysterien’s relationship so deep and complex, blurted, “Blake, you're straight and you don't sleep with dudes, and also Jonah is too old for you,” before remembering that his entire goal should be to make Blake want to sleep with dudes and specifically Jonah.

Jonah looked at Elliot. “I’m not even thirty yet,” he said.

"Jonah is like two years older than us, Elliot,” said Nicholas.

“And how do you know I don’t sleep with dudes?” said Blake. “I could sleep with dudes!”

“ _Too old_ ,” hissed Elliot. “Sorry, Jonah, but it’s not like you’re George Clooney. Get control of yourself, Blake. Trading your longtime standup gig at Chili’s isn’t worth this.”

“I feel as if I’m being Punk’d,” said Jonah.

“Yeah,” said Nicholas. “Actually, Blake, why don’t you talk to me about this swimming pool sculpture. I guess... Elliot and Jonah have things to talk about?” He shot Elliot a confused look and dragged Blake toward the pool, and Elliot was too flustered to figure out how to call him back without asking him what he was talking about. When did he and Jonah ever have _things to talk about_?

“Do we have things to talk about?” said Jonah, so at least he was as much in the dark about this as Elliot was.

“No,” said Elliot, while simultaneously trying to figure out if maybe Jonah secretly _did_ think they had things to talk about, because who the fuck knew what this conversation even was anymore.

“Oh, good,” said Jonah pleasantly. “I was worried I may have forgotten a very important conversational imperative, given my advanced age and accompanying senility.”

Elliot spared him a dismissive glance. “It’s fine,” he said. “You may not be George Clooney, but you probably look good for your age.”

“And that would be why Nicholas thinks we have things to talk about,” said Jonah, dry as the red wine he usually chose to drink.

“You care a lot what Nicholas thinks,” said Elliot.

“People do tend to care what their friends think, yes.”

Elliot scowled.

“You, however,” said Jonah pleasantly, or rather in that voice that everyone but Elliot always seemed to find pleasant, “don’t care what anyone thinks _except_ Nicholas. And Jane, when she’s here.” Elliot bristled. “Some people might find that admirable.”

Elliot didn’t want to make eye contact with Jonah, he almost never wanted to make eye contact with Jonah, but he found himself compelled to anyway.

“You clearly want to tell me what your opinion is,” he said, “and I, being a narcissistic flower-child, obviously want to hear it, or at least you clearly think I do, so you might as well go ahead.”

Jonah, for once, didn’t offer up his own version of the Elliot laugh, where he laughed at something Elliot had just said even though nothing about it was funny. He just looked at Elliot, for a long moment.

“I don’t know,” Jonah said at last, and he sounded surprised by himself. “I find it... complicated. I find you complicated.”

And then he took Elliot completely by surprise by looking flustered, rolling his eyes, and walking away.

Elliot frowned and went in the opposite direction of Jonah, which luckily took him to Nicholas and Evan, still standing by the swimming pool.

“Do you think Blake filled the swimming pool with vodka when he put the ice in it?” Elliot asked. “I could use a vodka swimming pool to drown myself in.”

Evan said, “Elliot, as ever, a calm and measured presence in our lives.”

Elliot sighed.

Nicholas said, “And how did your chat with Jonah go?”

Elliot wanted to ask why Nicholas was so weirdly emphatic that he have a chat with Jonah. Elliot said, “Jonah finds me ‘complicated.’ Which is fine. I think he intended it as an insult.”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” said Nicholas.

“You _are_ complicated,” said Evan.

“I’m very straightforward,” said Elliot, frustrated. “I am an extremely straightforward person. I just want attractive and interesting things around me, and the people I like, and a few shenanigans. Does that make me complicated? I don’t think that’s complicated.”

“You only drink pink drinks,” said Evan.

Elliot said, “...That’s your criteria for ‘complicated’?”

Evan shrugged. “As a bartender, that makes you complicated, yes.”

Elliot sighed and looked at Nicholas and said, “Do you think I’m complicated?” and then immediately dreaded the response and said hastily, “Wait, don’t answer that.”

Nicholas looked halfway between amused and inscrutable. Elliot blamed the low mood lighting around Blake’s parents’ pool.

“Elliot!” exclaimed Hazel, suddenly tackling Elliot.

Elliot staggered a few steps toward the swimming pool before righting himself.

“The _Patreon_ ,” said Hazel, eyes shining. “Have you seen the _Patreon_?”

“I put the Patreon up,” Elliot reminded her, “so yes. I’ve seen the Patreon.”

“But there are people _pledging_ to the Patreon. Like, we have _backers_.”

“I know,” said Elliot, confused. “That’s the point of having a Patreon. So people will want to--” Elliot cut himself off as Hazel engulfed him in another hug tight enough to punch the breath out of him. “Okay,” Elliot said, uncertain how to react. What had Hazel been drinking before coming to this party? He looked at Nicholas over Hazel’s shoulder but Nicholas was taking a sip of his drink and looked more inscrutable than ever in the stupid low lighting.

“People are pledging us money,” Hazel said. “People are paying us to create. People like what we’re doing so much that they want to hear more of it and they’re willing to pay us and this is a dream come true and _thank you_.”

“Oh,” said Elliot, surprised, because he’d set up the Patreon mainly because that was what should have been done and hadn’t thought through that apparently Hazel had not really internalized what a Patreon would mean. “Yeah, that was no problem.”

“Jane was right,” Hazel said, finally releasing Elliot from the hug. “To say you should be in charge of social media. I mean, I know some people were skeptical about it—”

“Who was skeptical about it?” asked Elliot.

“—but you’ve done such a great job and really, thank you. I am looking so much forward to the party tomorrow night, and meeting all of the fans, and letting the fans meet Nicholas and Jonah.”

“Me, too,” said Caroline. “Mysterien 5eva.” Everyone looked at her in surprise. “What?” said Caroline. “Like I’m not following along with your fandom? I’ve got a ton of sock puppet Twitter and Tumblrs I use to bother you.”

Elliot narrowed his eyes, wondering how many of his annoying anons about hot-like-fire Jemerson were from Caroline.

Caroline grinned at him like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Hazel looked at Nicholas. “Are you excited for your big Emerson James debut?”

“I’ve got a costume and everything,” Nicholas said, the low light gleaming in his eyes.

“A costume?” said Blake anxiously. “I didn’t know it was a costume party.”

“It’s not really a costume,” Elliot said soothingly. “It’s just a different Emerson aesthetic.”

“With a few tricks up my sleeve,” said Nicholas.

Elliot looked at him. “What tricks?”

“Don’t worry, they won’t destroy your carefully crafted aesthetic,” said Nicholas mildly.

“So,” said Blake. “Wait. When you said you’d never slept with Jonah, were you talking as _you_ or as Emerson?”

Nicholas spluttered. “I don’t even know what that _means_ ,” he said. “How would there be a difference? What would that even _involve_?”

Blake said, “Hey, it’s just the way we approach performance art!”

Nicholas laughed and took a long drink and called over to where Jonah had fallen into conversation with Evan and Anna. “Jonah, will you please come tell the Jemerson ship captain over here that we have never slept together?”

Jonah looked over. “What? No, we’ve never slept together,” he said, and Elliot felt something unclench inside of him.

“Except you did see me naked that one time,” Jonah added.

Then he winked at Nicholas, the bastard.

“Ooh la la,” said Anna. The others chimed in with demands for details, and Elliot looked mournfully at the swimming pool, wondering if he could just fall in and freeze like Jack in _Titanic_ thanks to all the floating ice cubes before anyone rescued him.

It wasn’t as though Elliot had forgotten that they all had once been roommates. It was hard to forget. They’d been roommates together for just over a year, and it hadn’t been bad. Elliot mostly thought of that time as the period when he was sneaking Caroline in and out of his bedroom. Maybe it was hardly any wonder that Nicholas had seen Jonah naked. Caroline had probably seen Jonah naked, too. Probably Caroline had seen Nicholas naked, too. Why not? Probably everyone in the Eggplant but him had constantly been walking in on everybody else naked, because why the fuck not, and this was probably why Caroline’s anonymous sockpuppets were almost certainly shipping Nicholas and Jonah together, because she probably thought they were _compatible_ , based on her secret naked knowledge, and meanwhile he, Elliot, had never seen anyone naked.

Well. He’d seen people naked. Not anyone that _counted_. In the current conversation. That they were having. Not any of those people.

And that meant that clearly everyone else could also have avoided seeing everyone else naked, because he had done it successfully, it wasn’t difficult to _not see other people naked._

“I’m going inside,” he announced, louder than intended, and everyone looked over at him. Jonah paused in the middle of his storytime about showing Nicholas his penis and said, “Oh, are you getting a refill?” He looked down at his glass and then back up at Elliot. “Be a dear, would you, and go find me some kind of vegetable to put in this martini?”

“But of course, dear,” Elliot said, smiling through gritted teeth.

***

"If you want to talk about embarrassing things,” Blake said hours and hours later as they were all sitting around the back yard, stoned and buzzed and mostly lying on top of each other. Caroline was draped in Elliot’s lap with her feet in Anna’s lap, Anna was leaning against Evan who was leaning against Blake, and Elliot was leaning on Hazel’s boyfriend, of all people, because Hazel had fallen asleep against him. Across from this train of people, Jonah was leaning against Nicholas, or maybe Nicholas was leaning against Jonah. Elliot was trying not to think about it. Elliot was trying not to think about anything, which was what the weed was for.

“Let's talk about that time you brought a pineapple on a hike,” Blake said, and it felt like hours and hours between the first half of that statement and the last, and another hour before Elliot realized it was directed at him.

“Nobody talks about that anymore,” Elliot murmured, turning his head into Hazel’s boyfriend’s shoulder. This was how he was able to _feel_ Hazel’s boyfriend tense in interest and slowly reach for his moleskine and pen.

“We do still talk about it,” said Nicholas blearily. “We all talk about the pineapple pic.”

“The pineapple pic!” said Evan, sounding far-off. “I love that pic. Yay. Yay for the pineapple pic.”

“Look,” said Elliot. “You have to have _fresh pineapple_ for your flirtini drink, which was what I was making the day we all went to Walden Pond.”

“Oh, right, a _flirtini_ ,” said Caroline. “In that case, everything’s normal, we’re all overreacting.”

“Not to mention the fact that you started pondering drink ingredients _before dawn_ , which was, if I recall, when we left for Walden,” said Jonah, and Jonah would be the one among them who didn’t sound stoned at all.

“Whatever,” Elliot muttered. “Anyway, why are we talking about my pineapple and not Nicholas's blazer?”

Nicholas sniffed. “You guys read way too much into that blazer,” he said.

All of them, in unison, responded: “You love that blazer.”

Time is a flat circle, thought Elliot. This was comforting. He should come to all of Blake’s monthly-weekly-whatever parties. This was home.

“It’s just that it was _cold_ the day we went hiking,” Nicholas was saying, and Jonah next to him was laughing and saying fondly, “That’s why most people wear a jacket,” and Elliot’s stomach felt queasy, and abruptly he wanted to go home.

Real home. Nicholas's.

“While we’re on the subject of things people talk about too much,” said Caroline, “Elliot, stop talking about absinthe.”

“I do not talk about absinthe that much,” said Elliot, yawning.

“You do talk about absinthe that much,” said Nicholas automatically from across the way. His eyes were closed and he was still leaning against Jonah.

“You were just telling me you’d been researching how much it would cost to open an opium den,” Anna said.

“But for _aesthetic_ reasons,” Elliot said. “God.”

"Elliot's going to decorate his apartment in opium den chic,” said Nicholas without opening his eyes. “It's a thing."

"That's not a thing," said Evan.

"It's a thing," said Nicholas.

“Yes it is,” said Hazel’s boyfriend suddenly beside Elliot. Elliot started. “Denpunk. Look it up.”

“Oh,” said Evan. “Cool.”

Slowly, Elliot raised his head and turned to look at Hazel’s boyfriend. “Is... is that really a thing?” he asked cautiously under his breath.

“I don’t think it matters,” said Hazel’s boyfriend, not looking up from his notebook. “He's not gonna Google it.”

“Hey,” said Elliot, suddenly struck by something and struggling to not sound like an idiot. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” said Hazel’s boyfriend, still writing. Elliot checked to make sure Hazel was still asleep.

“Do you... do you have a crush on me or something?” he blurted.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to ask questions like that to people whose names you can’t remember,” Hazel’s boyfriend muttered, and then he blinked and double-taked and went, “What?”

“Because it’s cool,” Elliot sputtered. “I'm also a fancy bisexual like you, so, you know, I get it.”

Hazel’s boyfriend put down his pen and closed his notebook and pushed up his glasses and stared at Elliot like he was a bug under a microscope.

“I... just mean...” Elliot was rapidly losing steam. “I’m... flattered? But I'm taken—I mean, you are. Taken. Because of Hazel. I meant you. As you know."

Hazel’s boyfriend said, “I...know.”

Elliot said, feeling unexpectedly indulgent toward him, “You are very interesting, Hazel’s boyfriend.”

“Thanks,” said Hazel’s boyfriend.

“Okay. Guys. Important announcement,” said Blake, and stood up, starting a chain reaction under which everybody needed to adjust, grumbling.

Once everybody had adjusted, there was silence.

“What’s the important announcement?” prompted Jonah of Blake.

Blake said, “Oh! Right! Everyone has to leave!”

This provoked a chorus of groans.

“I promised my parents I wouldn’t let you stay too late!” said Blake. “The neighbors complain!”

There were more groans, and general complaints about the state of their lives, and the monthly-weekly parties, and Blake’s parents’ neighbors.

Nicholas said to Elliot, as he was picking himself up from next to Hazel’s boyfriend, “Hey. Richelieu.”

“Yes,” said Elliot. “D’Artagnan. What’s up?” He smiled at Nicholas easily, because Nicholas had voluntarily stopped leaning on Jonah and come over to him and used their _code_ , and so this evening had been the best.

“Ready?” said Nicholas, and just like that it was like the old days, where Nicholas would say “Ready?” without even a second thought about whether or not they were going to the same place.

Elliot smiled again, full of joy for humanity, and turned to Hazel’s boyfriend and said seriously, “This was a good discussion. I think we understand each other.”

“Okay,” said Hazel’s boyfriend.

Pleased with himself, Elliot let all of his friends say good-bye and talk about the following night’s party and eventually found himself in a Lyft that someone had called somewhere, with Nicholas.

“We need to find better places for parties than Blake’s parents’ house,” said Elliot, yawning hugely.

“Blake loves it,” Nicholas said. “That would be mean.”

“Hey, I thought opium den chic was a really good idea,” Elliot said, as it occurred to him. “I really like how _louche_ it sounds.”

“Louche?” repeated Nicholas, sounding amused by him, sounding very _Nicholas_.

“Very _louche_ ,” said Elliot, extremely satisfied with the direction the evening had taken, now that he was in a Lyft with Nicholas on their way home like every other night. And then said, “Do you seriously still talk about the pineapple picture? It wasn’t that great.”

“Neither was the blazer picture.”

“The blazer picture was objectively the _best_.”

“It’s a tie,” said Nicholas. “It’s a best picture tie.”

“Yeah,” Elliot decided. “I guess.”

***

The following day was a Thursday, and a perfect day for a summer rooftop party, and Elliot had been prepared to spend it lounging around on Nicholas's couch petting Ian Purrtis and making certain he was cuddle-filled in order to keep him away from Nicholas's suit, whenever it appeared, before Jane landed and they got ready together. But what actually happened was that Jane’s flight got delayed and delayed and delayed again, and then, of all things, Elliot had to go to _work_. Like, into the office, to work, because one of his main clients had apparently decided to hold a shareholder’s meeting and discuss the latest efficiency evaluation he’d turned in without actually telling him about it until the last minute. By the time Elliot had rushed into the office, sat them all down, explained their jobs to them, rushed over to pick up the party posters he was giving away to fans from the printer’s, and gone to the tailor to pick up his own suit, Jane had learned she definitely wouldn’t be getting into Boston until the next day, and Elliot was already running very late.

 _Hey_ , he texted Nicholas on his way to Nicholas's place. _Jane’s plane got super delayed and isn’t coming in until tomorrow and all plans have gone awry and I don’t have time to pet your cat and then go home to get ready so I’m just gonna shower/change at yours, cool?_

 _k_ , Nicholas texted back, _I’m still at school, see you at the party later_ , and Elliot said, _k,_ and let himself into Nicholas's place.

The moment he stepped in he instantly remembered a barrage of things he still needed to do. Fuck, he thought, and called Nicholas.

“Hey, I’m kinda swamped,” Nicholas said when he answered. “What do you need?”

“I’m running late and I’m not gonna have time to get the swag bags from my place and still pick up the party supplies Hazel wanted me to get,” Elliot said. “Can you drop by my place before you head over to the party?”

“So you’re getting changed at my place to save time and you want me to go over to your place to save time,” said Nicholas.

“You can change there, it’s fine,” said Elliot, feeling weirdly embarrassed.

“Never say yours isn’t a fast-paced lifestyle, Richelieu,” said Nicholas.

“And I may need you to pick up some button backings.”

“Some... what?”

“You know, for the swag buttons,” said Elliot. “We had them printed from the printer and the printer put them in the swag bags and I took the swag bags home but I forgot to make sure the buttons had backings.”

“I’m sure the buttons have backings,” said Nicholas patiently. “But if they don’t, I’m on it.”

“Thanks,” said Elliot.

“Oh, and,” said Nicholas, “I left you a gift.”

“Who, me?” said Elliot, unaccountably pleased. He picked up Ian Purrtis and snuggled him.

“On the counter,” said Nicholas. He sounded like he was smiling, and Elliot had the thought that it was going to be a good night. “I’ll see you tonight.”

And then he rang off before Elliot could tease him or demand hints or thank him or anything.

Because Elliot liked to take his time anticipating his gifts he didn’t venture into the kitchen until after he’d cuddled the cat and showered and changed into his suit for the evening. His suit was lovely, because all Elliot’s suits were lovely, but it wasn’t as lovely as Nicholas's, because it was Nicholas's night as podcast star and all eyes should obviously be on him.

On the kitchen counter was a jewelry box and a note. Elliot swallowed. He felt like he’d been doing a lot of blushing lately. It wasn’t a good look for him, and he fought to keep his composure so he wouldn’t turn into a blotchy mess, since it was early yet and the party was probably going to give him plenty of opportunities to get red-faced.

He unfolded the note first.

 _E,_ it read,

_Thanks again for the suit._

_Here’s a trick up my sleeve, for your sleeve,_

_and a locket for your pocket._

_Nícolas_

A smile tugged at his lips and he gave into it. “Nícolas,” he murmured. “Hilarious.”

When he opened the jewelry box, he didn’t quite understand what he was looking at initially, and then his brain unfroze and he registered that Nicholas had given him _cufflinks and a watch fob._

And not just any cufflinks. He recognized them instantly: two bright ruby studs inlaid in vintage 18-carat gold, set in a classical French brocade. His tailor had been hoarding them for months; Elliot had had his eye on them for just that long, but had never been able to convince his tailor to part with them. They were, his tailor had insisted, half-joking but sincere, for someone with _vision_. (Sometimes Elliot hated his tailor.) And now—there they were.

The watch fob was an even greater surprise. It, too, was gold filagree, and somehow Nicholas had found an Albert chain made from the same brocaded design. At the fob end was a fleur-de-lis, and at the watch end, instead of a watch—Elliot’s breath caught—was a vintage locket, already open to reveal a bird in flight with a ruby red stone for an eye.

It was stunning, and a thought rose unbidden to Elliot as he stared at it: _cardinal_.

He fastened the cufflinks with trembling fingers and then did the same to the watch chain, threading the fob through his waistcoat button and tucking the other end gently inside of his pocket. He swallowed and then ran back to his office to swap out his tie and outer pocket square, because his whole original plan to not upstage Nicholas on his big night had been totally waylaid by Nicholas giving him his coveted pair of _incredible vintage ruby cufflinks_ , which clearly called for a bolder set of accents.

After a period of suspense in which he fretted and Ian Purrtis placidly watched him from the doorway, he decided to go with his maroon-and-grey tartan plaid tie, which he almost never wore because few events in his life were important enough to warrant it. And after that decision was made, he decided he was in for a penny, in for several hundred pounds, and paired it with a silk Gucci pocket square bedecked in fuchsia and gold peonies.

Then he went into Nicholas's bedroom—which made him feel even weirder—and inspected himself in the full-length closet mirror.

“Mrow,” said Ian Purrtis unhelpfully.

“Don’t you judge me,” Elliot told him. “I can’t just half-ass this now.”

He looked back at his reflection in the mirror, catching the flash of his cufflinks, only half-obscured under his suit coat, and thought suddenly of Nicholas’s suggestion that he pretend to be someone else at the party, that he find himself a costume. He had a costume: He was going as mostly himself, only a himself who belonged to Nicholas. Tonight, he thought, tonight for the space of this glorious evening, with the cardinal tucked close against him, he was going to give in, and let himself think of himself the way he always as wanted to think of himself: as _Nicholas’s_. And Nicholas would be off running around being Emerson James but Elliot could finger his cufflinks and feel the weight of his cardinal and think, the way he so seldom let himself whole-heartedly think, _I am his with every fiber of my being_.

***

Elliot got to Daedalus before the doors opened, but a smattering of fans had already lined up out front. Some of them were wearing what looked like cosplay. One of them, as far as he could tell from having skimmed through most of the episodes, appeared to be cosplaying as Sébastien, and he was talking avidly to someone who looked as though they could have easily passed for a Vaudevillian time traveler. Elliot thought of Nicholas’s cosplay suggestion and was pleased that he had decided on a much, much better costume.

The rooftop of Daedalus had been transformed for the party, with the patio cleared away for dancing and for the DJ booth, while the inside tables had been cleared away. Chairs had been placed for the audience on one end of the room, with a buffet at the other. Jonah and Hazel’s boyfriend were going over the evening’s schedule with Evan, and Elliot studiously left them to their own devices because he had no wish to hear Jonah say things like, “And I think here is when I should make a speech,” which was what he assumed Jonah was saying every time he pointed to the schedule. Evan had already worked out the playlist for the evening, but Elliot had no idea what kind of music geeks listened to and hadn’t given him much input. He was fairly certain that whatever music recommendations Hazel had given Evan for the party weren’t going to necessarily align with the Southern Gothic-meets-Enya-meets-every-John-Carpenter-soundtrack theme he’d been going with on Tumblr.

Hazel was setting up the swag table over by Evan’s DJ station. She hugged Elliot when he turned up, and Elliot wondered if Hazel had ever hugged him this much in a 24-hour period—or ever—before this. “This is going to be the greatest,” she told him. She was wearing a dress she described as Steampunk Lolita, and while Elliot had his serious doubts that any actual Loli girls had been consulted in the making of this sub-aesthetic, he had to admit she looked cute. He told her so. She beamed.

“And you,” she said. “You look amazing.”

Elliot flushed, for, like, the 8th time that hour.

Kate had also brought swag, in the form of signed production scripts (still not redlined), prints of some of the _Time Ravel_ fanart Elliot had commissioned, and something she called BPAL that looked like a Hot Topic nightmare but smelled amazing.

Elliot was helping her divvy up all the swag when Kate said, “Oh, yay, Nicholas is here so we can put all of this in the bags.”

Elliot glanced up. “Where?”

“Over there by the stairs with Caroline?”

Elliot looked, again, and experienced the same strange feeling he’d experienced earlier upon seeing the cufflinks: a moment of foggy incomprehension, the complete inability to understand what he was looking at. Caroline stood leaning against the balcony, all smiles in a cheery yellow sundress, but she wasn’t talking to Nicholas, she was talking to—

—to a stranger with Nicholas's hair and Nicholas's body, Nicholas's slim hips and tapered waist, Nicholas's firm ass and narrow legs, in a charcoal suit that Elliot had picked out for Nicholas and seen Nicholas measured for and joked about needing to take out a mortgage for, and just as Elliot was trying to understand how this stranger had wound up in Nicholas's body and Nicholas's suit, Caroline glanced over and the stranger turned around, and Elliot—

—Elliot felt all his cells rearranging themselves.

Nicholas... Nicholas looked ridiculous. He looked fucking sexy as hell, and completely ridiculous, all at once, and it was abruptly too, too much for Elliot.

He was wearing a small black domino mask over his eyes. In the center of the mask was a circlet of sequined rubies. He had gotten rid of his baby politician hair and replaced it with a strategically gelled crop that arced back from his face like the curls on a Greek statue. He had shaved his perpetual days-old scruff and had almost certainly gotten his eyebrows threaded. He had paired the charcoal suit with a rose pinstriped dress shirt and a ruby red pocket square that matched the rubies Elliot was wearing, and Elliot knew that if he took his eyes off Nicholas's face, he would see that Nicholas had also gotten a pair of matching cufflinks, also in ruby, like a secret whispered against the curve of his wrists.

But Elliot couldn’t drop his gaze. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stare. Nicholas wasn’t wearing his glasses, and his eyes were bright and sparkling, even from this distance and even behind that damn mask. Beneath the mask his mouth was a vivid smudge, and Elliot wanted to go to him and run his fingertips over Nicholas's ridiculous lips until they opened for him.

And then he wanted to rip off Nicholas’s costume and touch Nicholas everywhere. This Elliot--this Elliot who was Nicholas’s and letting himself think about it--was salivating over how much he wanted Nicholas.

He didn’t move. Nicholas's eyes were hooked onto his, and so they just stood, staring at each other across the patio, until Caroline tentatively touched Nicholas's arm and broke the spell and Elliot wrenched his gaze away like a fish suddenly flung back into water. He was airless; he was sun-scorched.

“Hey, you okay?” asked Kate beside him. “It’s hot out here, you should get some water.”

Elliot swallowed and nodded, grateful for any excuse to distract himself from-- _He wanted to touch Nicholas everywhere._

Elliot went to the bar. He didn’t even bother trying to figure out which pink drinks were on the menu. Instead he ordered a scotch and drank it, and then another, trying to figure out whether he wanted Nicholas to come over, whether he wanted to go find Nicholas, or whether he wanted to go find a hole and bury himself in it.

“You sure?” said the bartender when he ordered a third scotch. Elliot nodded.

And then Nicholas said, “Hey. Richelieu,” and his hand suddenly drifted over Elliot’s tense shoulders, and Nicholas didn’t do this, didn’t casually touch like this, and Elliot’s fingers flexed around his Scotch glass so he wouldn’t turn around and fist his hands into Nicholas’s three-thousand-dollar suit and just fucking devour him, right on this bar.

And then Nicholas did something even _worse_ , which was that Elliot could feel the ghost of Nicholas’s breath on the back of his neck, in the hollow behind his ear, as if Nicholas had leaned forward, had practically nuzzled him. Elliot made a sound that probably could have been called a whimper and tried to cover it with Scotch.

Nicholas said, as he slid into the seat next to him, “You okay? Kate said you got overheated.”

“I probably raced over here too fast,” Elliot said dully. That was an obvious lie, but Nicholas didn’t call him on it.

Nicholas just smiled at him an Elliot-smile, underneath his Emerson-mask, and said, “Well, you pulled it off. Everything looks fantastic. Most of all you.”

There was something wrong with Elliot’s breathing. Probably he was about to die. He should probably figure out how to do it most ashetically. He said, sounding like someone on the verge of a breathless swoon, “Thanks for the gifts.”

“Did you like them?” Nicholas said. “I thought they would suit you.”

“They were…” _The most perfect gifts in the entire universe_ , Elliot thought, and wondered if he could bite Nicholas’s neck without the world tilting off its axis.

Nicholas quirked a smile at him and said, “What are you drinking? Should I buy you another?”

“He’s already had three,” said the bartender unhelpfully.

Nicholas’s eyes flickered down to Elliot’s Scotch. “You had three non-pink drinks?”

“I’m...I’m...overwhelmed,” said Elliot uselessly, because he couldn’t think up a lie.

“Don’t be,” Nicholas said, his eyes suddenly sharp. “I didn’t want you to be. I didn’t want--I wanted--” Nichola looked about to withdraw, to tip away from him, and Elliot hadn’t realized how closely he’d leaned into him until that moment. And maybe it was what Elliot needed, for Nicholas to move backward and give him some air, but Elliot didn’t want air. If Elliot was going to drown in Nicholas tonight, then he wanted to feel every single tortured, ecstatic second of it. Elliot wanted to ride this self-destructive high right to the end, whatever that could be.

Elliot reached out and put a hand over Nicholas’s on the bar, by which he meant to indicate that he wanted Nicholas to stay, and Nicholas froze and looked down at their hands.

Elliot babbled stupidly, “No. I’m okay. I’m just--I’m okay.”

“What do you want to do?” Nicholas asked, after a moment, his voice a low murmur.

 _Fuck_ , thought Elliot, because what did Nicholas want him to say? The Elliot who was Nicholas’s and who usually never got to say anything at all in Elliot’s life wanted to say, _Christ, take me somewhere and fuck me through the mattress_ , but Elliot had gone so long without admitting what he wanted, without saying it out loud, that he didn’t know how to do it now, even on this night when Nicholas seemed to be in favor of free-passes on out-of-the-ordinary behavior.

Nicholas saved him by continuing to talk. Maybe it was obvious that Elliot had no breath in him to respond with. “I mean, we can stay in here drinking Scotch together all night, if that’s what you want.”

The part of Elliot who had been running social media for a podcast suddenly remembered where they were. “What?” he said, trying to pretend like he didn’t sound hoarse. “You can’t. This is your party. There’s an adoring public out there ready to eat you all up.” Elliot winced at his word choice. Too late now.

Nicholas smiled and said, “But I am exactly where I want to be, if this is where you want to be. That’s why I’m asking you what you want.”

Elliot felt dizzy and drunk, but not alcohol-drunk, Nicholas-drunk, or letting-yourself-finally-have-what-you-wanted-maybe-drunk, or something.  

And then Hazel said, “Elliot! We can’t get the sound system to work properly and some of the swag bags have buttons and some of them do not and also did you ask them to be careful about gluten in at least some of the passed appetizers?”

Elliot looked at Hazel blankly, because Hazel seemed to think that Elliot was going to _deal_ with these things.

Nicholas said pleasantly, “I’ll go with you.”

Elliot didn’t look at him again, because Elliot needed not to look at Nicholas in order to be able to walk outside, but he felt Nicholas behind him the whole way, the suggestion of Nicholas’s hand at the small of his back, and somehow the closeness of Nicholas’s presence, as Elliot put out myriad tiny party conflagrations, stopped being something Elliot was acutely, tensely aware of and started being...comforting, and familiar, and normal-seeming. After all, Nicholas was always where Elliot needed him to be, he was just a few steps closer tonight, and Elliot _liked_ it. Elliot liked the way Nicholas was right there, the way Nicholas could talk to him in a hushed whisper with amused comments or queires of how he could help. Elliot could suddenly see it clearly, how it could be, if somehow Nicholas’s Elliot got to live past the night, that maybe they could be like this, Elliotalas as they always were, just standing a bit closer together.

And then Hazel came over and said, “Sorry, Nicholas, can I steal you for a second? I mean, _Emerson_.”

Nicholas looked at Elliot and said, “I’m kind of--”

Elliot shook his head and said, “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. I’m just...doing Medici patron things, or whatever.”

“You’re sure?” said Nicholas.

“Oh, Elliot has everything under control,” Hazel said dismissively. “He’s a pro at this.”

So Elliot did a couple of tasks without Nicholas and the next time he looked up...Nicholas was dancing with Jonah. Literally _dancing together_.

Elliot felt like a bucket of icy water had been flung over his head, and he was struggling to breathe through the shock of it. But all night Nicholas had been next to him, a hairsbreadth away, and Elliot had been Nicholas’s, and it had felt like real life instead of the make-believe that it clearly was.

Elliot wanted to run away. Elliot wanted to fucking _go home_. Except he didn’t know where home was. Home was Nicholas’s, but not if Nicholas wanted Jonah, not if Nicholas didn’t want Elliot, and Elliot said out loud, “Fuck,” startling a girl who was cosplaying as a penguin, who gave him an odd look, and Elliot tried to get away, toward the door, but it was crowded and he got stuck in the line for the bar.

Nicholas said, because apparently the dance was done and also Nicholas couldn’t fucking leave him alone for two minutes tonight unless he was dancing with Jonah, apparently, “Hey, are you--”

“I’m okay,” Elliot said immediately, automatically. “I’m okay. I just--” Nicholas laid a hand on his arm, which made Elliot shiver and shudder and snap, “Please don’t touch me.”

“Okay,” Nicholas said, immediately dropping his hand. “I just wanted to--Is this about Jonah?”

“Is this about _Jonah_?” Elliot said. Maybe shouted.

Loud enough to attract looks, probably, since Nicholas dropped his voice to say, “Hey, maybe--”

“ _Why_ ,” Elliot demanded, “would any of this be about _Jonah_? Is there a reason you think this is about Jonah?”

“I don’t know,” Nicholas said, sounding properly angry now in a way Nicholas seldom did with him. “Maybe because you have been _obsessing_ over Jonah for--”

“ _I’ve_ been obsessing over Jonah?” Elliot interrupted hotly.

“Yes,” Nicholas said. “You’ve been subjecting me to speculation about his masturbation habits, for fuck’s sake. Like I want to sit around and think about that. I mean, it was a single, stupid, fucking dance for the whole fucking Jemerson _thing_ , but if you would rather be dancing with Jonah then just--”

“Wait,” Elliot managed, gaping at Nicholas. “Wait. Why would I rather be dancing with Jonah?”

“Because of your whole obsession with Jonah,” Nicholas said.

“No, that’s not me, that’s... _You’re_ the one who wants to dance with Jonah.” Even as he said it, he could see how _not true_ it was. Nicholas wasn’t in love with Jonah; Nicholas thought _he_ was in love with Jonah.

Nicholas stared at him from behind the mask he was still wearing. Nicholas said slowly, “ _I_ don’t want to dance with Jonah.”

“Isn’t this lovely?” Jonah inserted sunnily. “No one wants to dance with me. Fantastic. Emerson, you’re being paged.”

“What?” Nicholas said blankly.

“Here we come!” Jonah called up toward the stage, where Hazel looked like she might be suffering a stroke. “Me and _Emerson_.” Jonah tugged Nicholas up toward the stage, a hand at the small of Nicholas’s back to keep him moving in the right direction, much the way Nicholas’s hand had been at Elliot’s back the entire night, and Elliot watched them in tongue-tied shock. Nicholas looked at Elliot over his shoulder, even as he was pulled away from him.

Blake said to Elliot, “So I was thinking, like, what about a pinwheel?”

“A pinwheel?” Elliot said. Where the fuck had Blake even _come_ from?

“Yeah, like, it’s kind of like cool, laidback art, right? Like, I don’t take myself too seriously, I’m a fun guy to work with, and also I acknowledge the power of the wind.”

“What are we talking about right now?” Elliot asked after a second.

“More things I could get Jonah that would make him want to hire me.”

“You think Jonah will hire you if you get him a pinwheel,” said Elliot tiredly.

“Maybe? I mean, it can’t hurt, right?”

“Let me ask you something,” said Elliot. “Have you tried _just talking to Jonah_?”

“Talking to Jonah about what?”

“What you want. What would make you happy. The job.”

Blake looked at Elliot for a second, and then started laughing uproariously. A few of the people around them gave them disapproving looks as they tried to pay attention to the Jemerson dog-and-pony show at the front of the crowd. Blake said, “Just talking to him about what I want? Is that something people actually _do_? C’mon, you’ve got a reputation to uphold. Give me a good scheme for Jonah.”

Elliot looked back toward the makeshift stage. The entire crew was handing out swag, signing autographs, posing for selfies. Nicholas kept glancing over in his direction, and Elliot said, “I’m taking the night off from scheming.”

***

Elliot had an instinct to run, but tonight Elliot wasn’t following his instincts, Elliot was pretending to be the someone he didn’t get to be, the someone who was Nicholas’s, so Elliot stood to the side and waited for Nicholas to be finally, finally done working the crowd, and then Nicholas came over to him, and said softly, “I want to dance with _you_.”

“Okay,” Elliot said immediately, without thinking through any of the repercussions and how this would shift their balance. “Okay,” he said, and let Nicholas lead him onto the dance floor.

He should have thought through the repercussions because dancing with Nicholas was the worst thing in the entire world. Nicholas’s hands were impossibly hot, low on Elliot’s hips, and Nicholas was _right there_ , and it was horrible, this was horrible.

“I’ve had…” Nicholas took a deep breath. “Such a good time tonight. With you. I always do with you. You know that, right?”

Nicholas’s gaze was so intense behind his mask that Elliot couldn’t stand it. He took an unexpected hasty step even closer to him, so he could hide from that gaze a little bit, and that was even more horrible, because it put his face so close to the line of Nicholas’s neck, the curve where it met his shoulder, where Elliot had, so, so often, wondered how his head would fit. If he just...lay his head just there, just against him, and just...let it _fit_. And this was his night, his night as Nicholas’s, so he did. He very carefully leaned his head down to settle onto Nicholas’s shoulder, and Nicholas didn’t flinch or act at all surprised. Nicholas’s hands on his hips just tugged him that little bit closer, and Elliot, dizzy at this proximity and this permission, brushed his nose up the side of Nicholas’s neck, his breath trembling over it.

They weren’t dancing. Nicholas had stopped. Instead they were standing very still, pressed close together, and Nicholas shifted his head to rub his nose against Elliot’s. The mask was there, and in the way, and Elliot pulled back in sudden shock because he...because he...was maskless, for the first time in his entire acquaintance with Nicholas. He was maskless and Nicholas was masked and the exposure of his position made him throb with panic. He staggered backward from Nicholas, who said, “Elliot,” in a tone he couldn’t read and made a grab for him, but he dodged it, plunging backwards and through the thinning crowds and staggering into the bathroom, which was the only place he could think of for privacy.

Except that he was too rattled to lock the door and he was splashing water on his face when Nicholas followed him in. He still had his mask on, and Elliot was abruptly furious. He shut the faucet off and snapped at Nicholas, “I don’t want Emerson James.”

Nicholas pushed the mask off, letting it drop to the floor. “Fine. Good. Let’s leave Emerson James out of this.”

It was _worse_ with Nicholas’s mask off. He’d wanted it and yet now, with Nicholas just being _Nicholas_ , it was so much fucking worse. He said, “I can’t do this with you. I can’t play this game,” and he was aware he sounded plaintive and begging.

“Again,” Nicholas said, sounding calm and focused, “good. I’m not playing right now.” He reached behind him and locked the door he’d come through.

Elliot shook his head. “Please. I’m just tired.”

“Yes,” Nicholas said. “I think I know. I’ve been watching you. I just wasn’t sure what you were tired _of_ , and I was worried it was--but I think I know.”

“Do you?” Elliot asked wearily. “Because I have no idea.”

Nicholas, impossibly, Elliot-smiled at him, and then backed him into the wall, a juxtaposition that made Elliot clutch at Nicholas’s arms.

Nicholas said, “You do. Elliot. You do. You don’t want Jonah. You don’t want Emerson James.” Nicholas pressed into him, hot and close, and pressed Elliot’s hands back against the cool tile behind them and then curled his fingers into them. “Tell me you want _me_ ,” Nicholas murmured, and he was nuzzling now at Elliot without really kissing him, the barest brush of his lips against Elliot’s collarbones and neck and ears and hair. “Tell me you’re hopelessly in love with me. Tell me you want to spend the next thousand years with me.”

Elliot couldn’t tell him any of them. Elliot sobbed wordlessly and held tight to Nicholas’s hands in his. Because he didn’t have the energy to deny it anymore, he didn’t have the energy to _pretend_ , and surely Nicholas could see that.

Nicholas gasped, “Because that’s how I feel about you,” and then Nicholas finally kissed him.  

It was, objectively, a mess as a kiss but it was perfect from Elliot’s subjective opinion, the way they fell onto each other with such tense desperation that it took them a second to find their fit, for Nicholas to lick his way into Elliot’s mouth. Nicholas’s hands pushed at his clothing and Elliot arched up against him, trying to find friction, trying to find the fit of them, trying to say, “yes,” and “Nicholas” around the shape of Nicholas’s mouth against his.

“Fuck, I want you,” gasped Nicholas, his teeth against Elliot’s jaw, his ear, his neck. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long--”

“Tell me,” said Elliot, who thought he might be in danger of burning up and wanted to hear this, just once, before feeling too amazing _killed_ him. “Tell me.”

“I forget what it’s like not to--” Nicholas kissed Elliot again, like he couldn’t stop, like he couldn’t stop long enough to get any one thought out, he spoke in snatches of air before leaning back in to taste Elliot again, and again, and again. “You--and your--impossible--frustrating--fuck, the way you _smile_ at me--how much I want to--just--”

“Do it, oh my _God_ ,” said Elliot, manhandling the expensive waistband of Nicholas’s trousers in his haste to feel the length of him pressed up against him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” said Nicholas thickly, sounding absolutely wrecked.

“Keep touching me,” Elliot said, and he knew he sounded drunk, he _felt_ drunk, but it was a different sort of drunk entirely. “Oh, Christ, how--how can this--be happening?”

“ _Elliot_ ,” said Nicholas, and took his hand away, but before Elliot could whine his protest Nicholas pressed himself in against him, and Elliot didn’t have Nicholas’s hand anymore to thrust against, because the friction was suddenly being created by Nicholas’s very obvious hard-on, which was, fuck, the sexiest thing that had ever happened in Elliot’s life.

Until Nicholas sucked a possessive mark onto Elliot’s neck and Elliot whined. “Again. Do it again.”

“I’m never stopping,” said Nicholas, and now he was meeting Elliot’s movements, they had found their rhythm, and it was _fantastic_ , it was--God, it was--Elliot grabbed at Nicholas’s ass, pulling him in and holding him still just so he could force their rhythm faster because he _needed_ this.

“Fuck,” Elliot gasped, “I need you, I _need_ you--”

“ _Jesus_ ,” said Nicholas, fevered against Elliot’s skin, “just...I am going to take you home and fuck you, God, I’m just going to lay you down and spread you out and--”

“Fuck yes,” panted Elliot, because that sounded _perfect_ , _incredible_ , like he’d found a fucking genie in a fucking bottle and gotten everything he’d ever wished for. “That’s what I want, that’s what I--”

“--just _do whatever I want to you_ \--”

“Oh, God, everything, do everything,” said Elliot. “Do everything, I want everything, I want--fuck, fuck, I’m so close, I’m just-- _oh_.”

Nicholas’s kiss was fierce and deep and Elliot bit his lip when he came.

***

Elliot would have collapsed completely to the ground were it not for Nicholas, slumped against him, holding him up. Nicholas’s face was pressed into Elliot’s shoulder, gasping for breath, and Elliot smiled and smiled and smiled, he could _not stop smiling_.

Nicholas was moving now, brushing tender kisses onto Elliot’s skin, working his way up Elliot’s neck, murmuring, “Elliot, Elliot, Elliot,” while his hands skimmed along Elliot’s body, gentle, and _adoring_.

Elliot framed Nicholas’s face with his hands and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, swallowing the sound of his own name.

“Is this okay?” Elliot asked between kisses. “Tell me this is okay.”

“Okay is not the word for this,” said Nicholas. “This is fucking spectacular.”

“I wanted you so long,” Elliot said, buzzing on the relief of just getting to _say_ this. “Oh, my God. So long, and so badly, you are the most amazing thing I have ever encountered, I have been _infatuated_ with you, please just keep your hands on me now, just keep touching me, I don’t think I can go back to you not touching me.”

“ _Elliot_ ,” said Nicholas, his voice sounding choked, and kept touching him, and leaned his forehead against his, and said, “I will never stop touching you, I want to touch you constantly, fuck, it’s been killing me, _killing_ me, being too scared to touch you, and kiss you, and just _love you_ , fuck, I love you _so fucking much_.”

“Oh, my God, I love you, too,” said Elliot, amazed, astonished, he could think of nothing more shocking than what was happening.

“I was so scared,” Nicholas said. “I didn’t want to lose you. You’re my favorite person, Elliot. Just my _favorite person_.”

Elliot was trembling, and trying to pretend that he wasn’t, but this was so... _giddying_. He wanted to say, _Say it again_ , but was too embarrassed, sure he was blushing, detached ironic Elliot, completely undone.

“God,” said Nicholas, nuzzling against him, clearly trying to stay even-toned and measured, “I just want to...take you to _pieces_ , every shining part of you, and then put you back together, even brighter, just so I can do it again.”

“Do it,” said Elliot. “Do it. Start now.”

“I can’t start now,” Nicholas said. “We’re actually in the Daedalus bathroom, and people are knocking on the door.”

“Oh my God, we fucking are,” Elliot said, awestruck to realize that. “And people really are knocking”

And suddenly that seemed like the funniest thing. Elliot laughed and laughed. And Nicholas laughed with him, and caught some of the laughter with his mouth, and Elliot thought maybe everything was going to be the funniest thing, from this point on.

And then there was Hazel’s voice shouting through the door, “Elliot? Elliot!”

And that _also_ seemed like the funniest thing ever, Elliot was laughing so hard that he was collapsed into Nicholas, breathless with it.

“I don’t think this is the best time, maybe?” came Tim’s voice through the door.

“Tim!” exclaimed Elliot, and suddenly stepped beyond Nicholas to open the door. Hazel and Tim both looks astonished, and Elliot wondered briefly if it was very obvious he and Nicholas had just exchanged orgasms. Probably. Elliot didn’t care. Everything in Elliot’s brain was painfully sharp, crystal-clear. “Tim.” Elliot took Tim’s hands solemnly and ignored the fact that Tim looked like he wanted to sink into the ground, or bolt, or be rescued by God, or something. Elliot ignored all of that because this was _important_. “I know,” he said solemnly.

“You...know,” echoed Tim.

“I know your name.”

“You know...my name,” said Tim.  

“And I know that I’m the Mysterious Man. I figured it out. I know that Nicholas is Sebastian. I know that it’s us. It’s kind of creepy, writing down every word we say about each other, and you should know that, but they have a really sweet love story and thank you for making them very articulate with each other and know what they wanted and how to get it and letting them have orgasms much earlier in their relationship.”

“Oh,” said Tim, strangled.

“ _Orgasms_?” said Hazel.

“Okay,” said Nicholas, coming up behind Elliot and putting his hand back at the small of Elliot’s back, where his hand always, always, always belonged. “Elliot and I are going to go--”

“You can’t go!” exclaimed Hazel. “Elliot, this is important, snap out of whatever this is, I need you to call someone.”

“Hazel,” Elliot said, turning to her and also taking her hands.

Hazel gaped at him.

Elliot said, “You’re good at this producing stuff, you know. You’re really good. The podcast is great, and you basically pulled it together through sheer force of will, and through gathering the right pool of talent, and that’s really hard to do, and if I was railroading you sometimes--”

“ _Some_ times?” said Hazel.

“--I want you to know that I’m sorry and you’re good and I really love this podcast and I really love Sebastian, he’s my favorite, and you can even drop the French pronunciation thing, that’s okay.”

“There was never a French pronunciation,” Hazel told him.

Elliot patted her cheek fondly.

“Okay,” Hazel said, and looked beyond Elliot to Nicholas. “Can you, like, do your magic and get him to work again?”

Elliot started laughing. He couldn’t help it. He turned to Nicholas and said, “Hey. David Copperfield. Do your magic and make me work again.” He laid a hand broadly on Nicholas’s chest, over the lapels of his gorgeous suit, over his heartbeat, and smiled and smiled, besotted and punch-drunk, because he _could_. He could just touch, and Nicholas could touch him back, and it was _good_ , it was _amazing_.

“Yeah,” said Nicholas, quirking a smile at him, his hand still low on Elliot’s back, not light but heavy, possessive. “I’m trying.” He looked over at Hazel and said, “My magic is best performed in private, I think. Let me get him out of here and--”

“But,” said Hazel, “this is very important. This is the _most important thing_ to ever happen.”

“It _is_ ,” Elliot agreed, leaning happily against Nicholas.

“You’re talking about two different things,” Nicholas said. “The two of you are talking about two _completely_ different things.”

“It’s a _producer_ ,” said Hazel.

“What does that mean?” said Elliot.

“A producer of _podcasts_ ,” said Hazel. “He’s a producer with Wanderlust New England .”

“That’s the network that does all the fiction podcasts people aren’t sure are real or not,” Nicholas said.

Hazel said impatiently, “Yes, Nicholas, I _know_. Elliot, haven’t you been looking at your phone?”

Elliot remembered he had a phone, and then said, “What? Why would I have been looking at my phone?” because that sounded like the stupidest question Elliot had ever heard.

“Check your phone,” Hazel said, “he sent an email to the podcast inbox saying he’s going to be in Boston tomorrow and would like to meet with us about potentially joining the network. He wants you to call him. I don’t know why he wants _you_ to call him but go, call him before it gets to be insultingly late.”

“Don’t we already produce this podcast?” said Elliot, bewildered.

“Yes, but they produce _real_ podcasts,” Hazel said.

“I wasn’t aware our podcast was fake,” said Elliot. “I mean, it _feels_ real.”

“These people have _money_ ,” Hazel said. “They could _pay us_. And we could do _amazing things_ with Sebastian. And they want to talk to _you_. So please talk to them and do what you do and sell the podcast and get us a meeting. Please?”

“Hazel.” Elliot leaned forward, away from Nicholas, and took her hands again, and said solemnly, “I will do this for you. Because I love you and consider you a really good friend.”

Hazel stared at him and said, “Seriously, what the fuck is up with you?”

Elliot patted her cheek again.

***

Elliot called the producer in his disheveled suit from a corner of the Daedalus patio, watching Nicholas wait for him by the exit, looking also marvelously disheveled and Elliot just wanted to dishevel him more, Elliot was so very happy they’d completely destroyed that suit Nicholas was wearing.

“Hi,” Elliot said when the producer answered. “Hope this isn’t a bad time.”

“Are you kidding,” said the producer. “No one sleeps in this business.”

“Sleep,” said Elliot grandly, “is for those not bold enough to seek all of life.”

“Okay,” said the producer, after a pause, and then he explained he was going to be in Boston the next day and wanted to meet with the podcast team to discuss potential network opportunities. Elliot arranged a time and rang off.

And then Elliot, on his way to tell Hazel what he’d done, got distracted by Evan and Anna.

Evan said, holding up his phone, “Everyone thinks I’m Emerson James.”

“It’s the blazer photo. Nicholas’s blazer. I told you to delete Nicholas’s blazer photo. It doesn’t matter now. What I want to say to the two of you.” He took a hand of each of them in his own. “Is that you’re a great couple. You really are. And life’s too short not to enjoy being a great couple.”

Evan and Anna said, “What?”

Blake said, “What’s gotten into you?”

Elliot turned to Blake and said, “You’re really funny, and really fun, and I love your performance art.”

“What?” said Blake blankly.

“And you should just tell Jonah that you’d like some help, he’s nice, he’d help you. And also I’ll help promote you, I’m good at it, I should have offered so long ago.”

Blake just stared at him.

And then Elliot noticed Caroline, standing off to the side and flirting with one of the waiters, and wandered over to her.

“Hi,” Elliot said. “I am interrupting to say that she is great and you should be good to her.”

The waiter said uncertainly, “What?”

Caroline said, “Okay, sorry, this is my very drunk friend, let me just...get him into a Lyft…” Caroline kind of manhandled him away from the waiter and said, “I’ve got this under control, and also what happened to you?”

Elliot said fervently, “ _Everything_ happened. _So much_ happened.”

“Are you high right now? I knew Blake brought some good stuff with him and wasn’t sharing.”

“Caro, I was a dick to you in college, I should have been a better boyfriend, or I should have been no boyfriend, because I just wanted Nicholas, and I’m sorry you got put in the middle of it, you deserve way better.”

Caroline blinked, looking taken aback, and said, “Oh. Well. I mean, don’t worry about it. You _were_ a terrible boyfriend, but that’s okay, I’m not sure I was looking for a really good boyfriend at the time. And you’re a good friend. And you just...You _do_ want Nicholas. Are we saying that out loud now?”

“We’re saying that out loud,” Elliot said, and then hugged Caroline fiercely.

“Okay,” Caroline said, and patted his back a little. “You’re sure you’re not high?”

“I’m just happy,” Elliot said. “I’m just _really happy_. You should be really happy, too. Also, your photography is _really good_ and we should be using it for the podcast, we could help promote it, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.”

“Really?” said Caroline. “I’d like that. I didn’t want to--I mean, if you thought it wasn’t the right aesthetic, I didn’t want to--”

“Fuck aesthetic,” Elliot said. “But anyway, it’s perfect, and you’re a friend of Time Ravel, so you get pride of place. We’ll go over your portfolio sometime.”

“We could have coffee tomorrow,” Caroline said.

Tomorrow seemed like way sooner than Elliot wanted to have to leave Nicholas’s bed. He said, “Let’s not do tomorrow. Like, at some point in the future. Like, near future. But, yeah.”

“Okay,” Caroline said. “Tomorrow I’m probably planning to be busy anyway.” She gestured toward the waiter.

“Good, we can all be busy tomorrow. Oh! Tomorrow! I have to talk to Hazel.”

And then he scurried over to Hazel, who was waiting impatiently, next to Tim and Jonah. Jonah, naturally, looked amused, and Elliot didn’t even care that Jonah looked amused, Elliot got it now, everything _was_ charmingly amusing, the _entire world_ was fun and funny, he’d just never noticed before.

“Well?” Hazel demanded. “What happened?”

“You have a meeting tomorrow,” Elliot said.

Hazel squealed and hugged Elliot and then squealed some more and hugged Jonah and then squealed some more and hugged Tim.

Jonah, as Hazel kept squealing, said to Elliot, “You look thoroughly debauched.”

“I’m sorry,” Elliot said.

“Don’t apologize. It’s a good look for you.”

“No, I mean, I’m sorry. I feel like...I feel like I have kept shoving you in the middle of whatever Elliotolas drama was playing out, from the very beginning--”

“The problem with the two of you,” remarked Jonah calmly, “was you never _had_ any drama. And that was absolutely what you needed. Have you had your drama now?”

Elliot looked at Nicholas, waiting for him by the door, in his Emerson suit but rumpled into Nicholas-ness, and Elliot...loved and loved and loved. Elliot said, “Good drama. It’s good drama.”

“Good,” said Jonah. “Go and be dramatic in the way you’ve been waiting for for years.”

Elliot smiled at Jonah, and Jonah smiled back, and Elliot went to Nicholas and took his hand and said, “Please take me home now.”

Nicholas said, “I’ve already called the Lyft,” and then they walked down the stairs together, trying to do it while having their hands on as much of each other as they could handle, which meant it was a miracle they didn’t fall entirely down the stairs.

Elliot pushed Nicholas against the wall when they got to street level and kissed him.

Nicholas caught his hands up around Elliot’s head to kiss him back and then murmured, “Did you set up a meeting with the producer?”

“Yeah,” Elliot answered. “I don’t know--it’s tomorrow--or something--”

“Hey,” said Hazel, suddenly inserting herself between them, as if they hadn’t just been in the middle of _making out_. “We’re going to karaoke to celebrate. Do you want to go to karaoke to celebrate?”

Elliot stared at her.

“What?” said Nicholas.

“Something tells me that ‘Genie in a Bottle’ will be a private rendition only tonight,” said Jonah, gently steering Hazel away from them.

Nicholas looked back at Elliot.

Elliot laughed and pushed his fingers through Nicholas’s hair and said, “Do you want a private rendition of ‘Genie in a Bottle’?”

“I want a million of them,” Nicholas said.

“What do I get in return?”

“Hmm,” said Nicholas. “Orgasms?” He nibbled on Elliot’s neck.

Elliot laughed. “I mean _song-wise_.”

“I don’t sing,” said Nicholas.

“Not even in bed?”

“Do you do a lot of singing in bed?” Nicholas asked.

“I could if the singing was sexy,” said Elliot.

“I’ve grown accustomed to your face,” Nicholas said into Elliot’s ear, not singing it at all but it didn’t matter, because Elliot still melted like the Antarctic ice cap in Sebastian’s time. “You almost make the day begin. Your smiles, your frowns, your ups, your downs, are second nature to me now. Like breathing out and breathing in.”

“Okay,” said Elliot, pulling Nicholas in for a feverish kiss, “you don’t have to sing, that was enough.”

Elliot could feel Nicholas’s smile as he kissed him back, and then Nicholas suddenly lifted his head and frowned toward the street.

Nicholas said, “Wait, did Hazel and Tim and Jonah just steal our Lyft?”

***

Nicholas dealt with the Lyft situation.  

Elliot texted Jane.

 _Everything is AMAZING_ , was what he texted.

Jane texted back, _?????_

Elliot texted back, _Also you’re a great friend and I know you put up with a lot, not from me, from the world at large, sexism and racism and Facebook should fucking cherish you and I love you a lot._

Jane texted back, _...Is Nicholas with you?_

Elliot smiled and texted back, _Nicholas says hi._

“Hey,” Nichols said. “Are you coming?”

Elliot looked at him, waiting for him by the open car door, and smiled and shut his phone off and pocketed it and said, “Jane says hi.”

“Tell her,” said Nicholas into Elliot’s ear, something very close to his sexy Sebastian purr, as Elliot passed him to get into the Lyft, “that I am indeed handling your blowjobs for you, except that I endeavor for you to not to use the word ‘aesthetic’ to describe them.”

Elliot grinned. “But I _like_ aesthetic blowjobs.”

“Elliot,” said Nicholas, mouth against Elliot’s ear, “if the best adjective you can use to describe a blowjob is aesthetic, then it wasn’t a good blowjob, and I’m going to prove that to you later.”  And then he bit Elliot’s earlobe, and then he blew on it, and so Elliot had no choice but to full-body shiver and clamber onto Nicholas’s lap.

“Okay,” said Nicholas, “we are in a car,” but he didn’t push Elliot off.

“Sorry,” Elliot said to the Lyft driver. “I’m sorry. We’ve been in love with each other for years and we’ve just kind of said it to each other and now we’re going to go home to the apartment we’ve basically been sharing for a long time even though we never admitted that and we’re going to say hi to our cat and then we’re going to have a lot of sex.”

“Hey,” said the Lyft driver, “that’s cool.”

Elliot grinned at Nicholas. “He says it’s cool.”

“I heard. Are you going to be--ridiculous--from now on?” he asked around Elliot’s kisses.

“Yes. But I was always ridiculous, wasn’t I?”

“Yes,” said Nicholas. “The _most_ ridiculous. My favorite ridiculous. I love your ridiculous.”

“Tell me again,” said Elliot.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” said Nicholas. “What if I--just never stop--saying that to you?”

“Good,” Elliot said. “That’s good.”

“What if it’s--in every code--I ever used with you--Richelieu?”

Elliot stopped kissing for a second. Elliot pulled back and looked at him and blinked and let all the pieces fall into place. Elliot said, “Kiss me so hard it turns me into a metaphysical construct.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“It’s code,” Elliot said, sinking back into Nicholas’s kisses. “You’ll figure it out. You’re already well on your way.”

***

“Lyft drivers are great,” Elliot told their Lyft driver happily when they got to Nicholas’s. “You do great work. I’m also sorry that the gig economy exploits you and leaves you open to horrible corporate abuse and that every time we pay for a Lyft we’re contributing to a vicious cycle. And I’m sorry that despite this I still want to keep using Lyft because I’m a privileged butterfly and black car service is amazing.”

Their Lyft driver said, looking amused, “Go enjoy all your fabulous sex.”

“We are absolutely going to do exactly that,” Elliot assured him.

“Okay, Muriel Rukeyser, come along,” said Nicholas, clasping his hand and pulling him out of the car and inside the hallway to Nicholas's door.

“Really, though, Lyft sucks,” said Elliot, looking at their joined hands and wondering wildly for a moment if they could just keep holding hands forever. Nicholas had to let go to fumble with the keys, though, because both his hands were shaking, and Elliot stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around him and kissed the back of his neck until Nicholas just said, “ _Fuck, Elliot_ ,” and turned around and dropped the keys on the floor and just made out with him against the door for an indeterminate amount of time, until they heard Ian Purrtis meow from inside.

Elliot had Nicholas pinned against the door, hands clenched in each of Nicholas's, still trying to explore every inch of his jaw and temple and neckline. “We have to go inside,” he murmured, “because I want to cuddle Ian Purrtis and say something dorky like, ‘Ian Purrtis, your daddies are home!’ and have it be true.”

Nicholas said, “No, seriously, I can’t believe this is real,” and leaned his head against Elliot’s shoulder.

“It’s real, I really am that much of a sap,” said Elliot, resting their foreheads together. Nicholas smiled.

“I kind of knew that already, Mr. ‘I claim to read only David Foster Wallace yet have a Jane Austen quote ready for any and all occasions.’” He collected himself, picked the keys up, and finally they made it inside. Ian Purrtis darted between both their ankles and then did it over again because now they were pressed against the other side of the door.

“Ian Purrtis,” Nicholas murmured, “Your dads are home. They’re completely inept, but they’re home.”

“ _So inept_ ,” Elliot agreed against his mouth.

“Does Austen have a quote for that?” Nicholas asked.

Elliot pulled back a moment and gazed at him, and, this time, he was the one doing the helpless Colin Firth gaze, he could feel it in his cheekbones and in his eyes, but Nicholas was gazing right back, and this was a feedback loop Elliot never wanted to end.

“‘I was in the middle before I knew I’d begun,’” he said.

“ _Elliot_ ,” Nicholas said, and kissed him all the way into the bedroom.

Elliot was deeply engaged in kissing the crevices of Nicholas's mouth while getting him out of his suit—and he was taking his time about it because he wasn’t sure that being able to touch and kiss and stroke a naked Nicholas wouldn’t absolutely be the end of him, given how intensely he was reacting to being able to touch and kiss and stroke the top 20 percent or so of Nicholas thus far—when Ian Purrtis darted between them and said, “Mrowrow,” and jumped on the bed.

Nicholas said, “Fuck,” and attempted to move towards the bed to shoo him away, but Elliot clung to his hips and said, “No, let him stay.”

“He’ll be in the way,” Nicholas said.

“I want him to be in the way, though,” Elliot said, dizzy with the possibility that this could just be them, their _life_ , the cat jumping on the bed and getting in the way of sex because that’s what cats did and it was their bed and their bedroom and their cat and—”I want all of it,” he said urgently, wanting Nicholas to understand.

Nicholas apparently did understand. Nicholas's eyes were shining, and his grin grew larger and he leaned in and brushed his nose against Elliot’s and said, “Okay,” and drew Elliot back onto the bed. They sank down in a flurry of kissing and clothes-pulling and Ian Purrtis immediately hissed in indignation and moved, but Elliot was only vaguely aware of all this because Nicholas was suddenly bare-chested beneath him and this seemed like such a vast improvement on the state of his entire life up til that moment that Elliot could barely handle it. He pulled his own shirt over his head, finally, unable to repress a grin at Nicholas's sharp inhale, and then leaned down and aligned their bodies together, the way they were always, always supposed to have been.

“Elliot,” said Nicholas, into one of their endless kisses, his fingers skimming over Elliot’s back to tuck just the barest tips of them under Elliot’s pants. “Last chance to sleep on the couch.”

Nicholas said it playfully but Elliot pulled back, stopped kissing him, said into the rush of sudden clarifying oxygen between them, “I plan to never sleep on that couch again.”

Nicholas tipped his mouth into a smile that seemed to take effort, that was at odds with the shining depths of his eyes. “You are extremely optimistic that you’re never going to piss me off enough to send you out to the couch.”

“I’m…” Elliot looked down at Nicholas underneath him, _underneath him_ , flushed and kiss-rosy, and said, “I’m very optimistic. Yeah.”

Nicholas said, “I love you.” And then Nicholas said, “Fuck, I wish you could see the look on your face when I say that to you. I love you, I love you, I love you.” Nicholas sat up, showering him with kisses, rolled them so he could stretch out over him.

“ _Nicholas_ ,” said Elliot, feeling completely destroyed and Nicholas had barely _done_ anything yet.

“Tell me what you want,” said Nicholas into Elliot’s mouth. “Tell me. You can have anything you want.”

“I want you,” said Elliot.

“That you have. Be more specific.”

“I want your hands, and your mouth, and your cock. I want _everything_ , I don’t even know where to _start_.”

“ _Elliot_ ,” said Nicholas, getting a hand down Elliot’s pants, and Elliot flailed at the touch, squeezing his eyes shut, speechless at how _fucking good_ Nicholas’s hands felt on him. “Okay,” said Nicholas, “from that reaction, I’m guessing we can start with a hand.”

Nicholas stroked him, and Elliot shuddered, so fucking overwhelmed that he gasped out, “Oh, my God, stop, _stop_.”

Nicholas stopped, going very still above him, and Elliot took a few heaving breaths and then grabbed Nicholas’s hand to move it away from his cock and opened his eyes and said, “You cannot touch my cock just yet, I’ll come immediately and I want this to last _forever_.”

“Well,” remarked Nicholas, “it’s going to last forever, regardless of when you come. If you think you only have one more orgasm left in you tonight, you are underestimating my plans for you tonight.”

Nicholas grinned at him, and then Nicholas leaned in and kissed him, and Elliot tried to memorize everything that was happening, the feel of Nicholas, in this exquisite moment, kissing him breathless, slow and deep, dragging Elliot from the buzzing urgency of his near-orgasm into a thick, honeyed throbbing arousal, insistent but not demanding. Nicholas kissed down Elliot’s chest, over his abdomen, taking his time to stroke at nerve endings Elliot hadn’t even known he had. By the time he went down on him, Elliot felt boneless, and weightless, and his orgasm washed over him and dragged him under.

When he felt like he came back to earth and air, Nicholas was kissing him gently and murmuring, “Hey. Richelieu. Still with me here?”

Elliot nodded, and said, “I…” and then didn’t know what else to say.

“Shh,” Nicholas said, and kissed his eyelids, and his cheekbones, and the tip of his nose. “Elliot,” he murmured. “My lovely, lovely Elliot. I’ve imagined you in this bed a thousand different nights, and you were never half this devastating, even in my wildest dreams. _Elliot_.”

Elliot swallowed thickly and said shakily, “You make me feel…” and then didn’t know what else to say again.

Nicholas said, a smile on the lips against Elliot’s skin now, “Good, I hope.”

“ _Alive_ ,” said Elliot, which was ridiculous but also weirdly true.

Nicholas pulled back far enough so Elliot could see his smile now. “Metaphysical?” he suggested.

Elliot wanted to be skillful and practiced and sexy. Elliot wanted to push Nicholas back against the Elliotress and blow him with showy expertise and have Nicholas be speechless at what a fantastic sexual partner Elliot was. But in the end all Elliot could manage was an uncoordinated handjob, while Nicholas took shuddering breaths into Elliot’s mouth and groaned his name softly when he came.

Elliot kissed the side of Nicholas’s head, where Nicholas had collapsed against him, and said as lightly as he could, “I’ll do a better job for the next orgasm.”

“Do a better job,” Nicholas croaked, “and you’ll kill me.”

Elliot smiled, and kissed his head again, and said, “I love you.” Because now he could say it all the fucking time.

***

“You’re, like, moving,” Elliot said, protesting, because all he wanted to do was stay tucked close up against Nicholas, swamped with touch, dozing, with Ian Purrtis curled up purring at his back.

“Let me get a facecloth,” Nicholas said, extracting himself from Elliot’s attempts to pull him back to bed.

“Ugh,” said Elliot, finding himself with an empty bed, “forget it, I’ll just cuddle with Ian Purrtis.”

Nicholas Elliot-laughed, and Elliot smiled and turned his face into one of Nicholas’s pillows and just breathed for a second, until Nicholas came back with a facecloth and was efficient with it and then tossed it toward the hallway and then dropped back into bed.

“Make Ian Purrtis move,” Nicholas said.

“Nope,” said Elliot. “Too late. You abandoned your post and Ian Purrtis moved in.”

“You think I can’t make love to you _around_ Ian Purrtis?” Nicholas said.

“Aww, are you going to make love to me?” asked Elliot. “Like my very own Mr. Darcy?”

“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,” said Nicholas.

“Go ahead,” said Elliot primly. “I’m listening.”

Nicholas Elliot-laughed again, and basically just settled over Elliot, Ian Purrtis be damned, which Ian Purrtis did not appreciate, and he stalked away with an indignant meow.

“Oh, dear,” Nicholas said, “now I’ve upset relations with the cat.”

“Ian Purrtis’s good opinion, once lost, is lost forever,” Elliot told him, returning his kisses.

“Which of us is the Mr. Darcy here?” asked Nicholas.

“It’s complicated,” Elliot said. “My life is very complicated.”

“I love--all your complications--so much,” said Nicholas. “I’m just going to kiss you for the next thousand years.”

“I’m okay with that,” Elliot agreed, so happy that he actually curled his toes into the mattress with glee, he wanted to wriggle and squirm around with it.

“Fuck,” said Nicholas, “if I’d known you would _be_ like this…I really, really want _you_. You know that, right? You’re not a metaphysical construct. You’re not the Mysterious Man. You’re Elliot. You’re _Elliot_.”

Elliot stared at him, and then said finally, “How do you know who I am? Sometimes I don’t even think _I_ know who I am.”

“I know,” Nicholas said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to know who you are. You can be this wonderful, delightful work in progress. I think that’s what life _is_. I would just like us to be works in progress together. Can we do that? I just...I feel like I’ve been in love with you from our first conversation. And I thought, that was ridiculous, I’d get over it, I thought I’d...grow out of it, or away from you, or something, but I don’t think I want to. I want you to come home to at the end of the day. I want you sleepy in our kitchen in the morning, drinking all of our best coffee and eating all of our bagels and cuddling our cat. I want you complaining about aesthetics to your clients in our office. I want you watching all of those trashy television shows you love that you think I don’t know you love. When I come home so tired I don’t have the energy to smile, I want you to do what you do and _make_ me smile. And that’s selfish, I know, but I also want to be the one you come to when you’re sad and can’t put your finger on why, when you need something, anything, just...I don’t want this to be overwhelming, I just want this to be--”

“Us,” Elliot interrupted suddenly.

“What?” said Nicholas.

“Us. Elliotolas. You want us. Do you think I don’t want us? I want the _fuck_ out of us. I couldn’t wait to move myself in with you and have this life together, and I should have said, only I was too scared, I just want everything we already have, with more sex. And, like, cuddling. And, like, holding hands in public and being sickening to everyone. And, like, making out in every Lyft we take. Like, all of that. Can I have all of that?”

“You can have anything you want,” Nicholas said, and took a deep shaky breath and leaned down and just breathed Elliot in, nose pressed against his collarbone. And then he said, “Text Jane.”

“What?” Elliot said dazedly, because Jane was the last person he’d been thinking about.

“Text Jane and tell her I am going to spoil you _terribly_ for the next little while and she should warn everyone that you might just run amok with no adult supervision.”

“Nah,” said Elliot, “it’s going to be fine, just keep me too fucked out for shenanigans.”

Nicholas laughed and laughed, Elliot laughs into Elliot’s skin, and Elliot thought, _This moment is my favorite moment ever_.

***

Nicholas’s alarm went off and Elliot said, “...the _fuck_?” into Nicholas’s chest.

“It’s called an alarm,” Nicholas said, sounding actually _awake_. “Useful for when you have to wake up on time.”

“No,” said Elliot, when Nicholas slid out from underneath him. “The _fuck_?”

“Go back to sleep,” Nicholas said. “I’ll see you later.”

“Wait, wait, what?” Elliot, kind of awake now, reached out and grabbed Nicholas’s hand before he could move fully away. “Where are you going?”

“Right now, into the shower. Later, class.”

“ _Class_?” said Elliot. “No, no, no, what can you possibly learn today, you have to come back to bed and have more sex with me.”

“Oh, wait, that’s right, I forgot the school provides ‘sex leave days.’”

“You _should_ have sex leave days. I should contact your professors.”

Nicholas kissed underneath Elliot’s jaw and tousled his messy hair and said, “Go back to sleep. I’ll call you later.”

There was no way in hell Elliot was going back to sleep. Elliot listened to the shower turn on in the bathroom and stretched in Nicholas’s bed and looked up at the ceiling and smiled. Ian Purrtis came to bed and curled up on Elliot’s chest and purred.

Elliot stroked him and said, “We have to get up and make Nicholas coffee like a good boyfriend. Well. _I_ have to do it like a good boyfriend. You have to just be a good cat and let me, hmm?”

Ian Purrtis looked unimpressed by Elliot’s plan.

But Elliot hunted through his clothes for a clean pair of boxer shorts and shuffled into the kitchen and put a pot of good coffee on and put a bagel in the toaster.

“What is this?” asked Nicholas, sounding pleased when he came into the kitchen.

“I’m being a good boyfriend,” said Elliot. “It’s a sacrifice I’m making for you.”

“I appreciate that. I was scared you were going to be a terrible boyfriend.” Nicholas pulled Elliot in and nuzzled at his shoulder and murmured, “You know, you’re best in mornings? You always kill me in the morning, all sleepy and warm and mussed.”

“You’re best all the time,” said Elliot.

“Ha,” said Nicholas, smiling as he lifted his head up. “Sap.”

“Says the person who wrote me _this note_.” Elliot held it up and waved it a little bit.

Nicholas smiled more. “It did what I wanted it to do. Which was make you smile, and think fondly of me. It did _more_ than I thought it could do.”

“How long are you in class today?” Elliot asked, leaning in for a kiss, which Nicholas gave him, morning breath and all.

Nicholas said, “Until this afternoon,” and poured himself a cup of the now-ready coffee.

“Hmm,” said Elliot. “Seems like a long time to go without sex.”

Nicholas laughed and said, “Your life is very hard.”

“That laugh is my favorite,” Elliot said.

Nicholas looked at him curiously. “Is it?”

“It’s your Elliot laugh,” Elliot said.

Nicholas smiled. “Of course it is. Don’t forget, in your sex-deprived state, that you have a podcast meeting today.”

“Oh, fuck,” said Elliot. “We do a podcast.”

Nicholas laughed and said, “I love you.”

“Fuck, I haven’t even _looked_ at the social media,” Elliot realized. “I don’t even know what people are saying about the party. I haven’t been on Twitter in, like, _hours_ ,” said Elliot.

“Elliot, the fact that I’m more distracting to you than Twitter is the most romantic thing you’ve said to me so far.”

“You are more distracting than _all_ social media,” Elliot told him.

“Stop saying such filthy things,” said Nicholas. “I have to go to school.”

Elliot grinned and suddenly hopped up onto the kitchen counter and hauled Nicholas by his collar in between his legs, wrapped his legs around Nicholas’s waist, and kissed him with intent.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Nicholas said, and went on to learn a very important lesson about getting dressed before breakfast anymore, and even though he was dashing to get out the door later, he still paused to kiss Elliot against the wall, lingering and fond, and say, with so much obvious affection that Elliot didn’t know how he’d missed it before, how much Nicholas clearly just _wanted_ him there, “Have a good day, Richelieu.”

“Fuck Marry Kill,” Elliot said to him.

“Fuck,” Nicholas said. “All the way. Obviously.” And then winked at him before leaving.

Elliot collapsed dramatically onto the couch like a nineteenth-century virgin with a too-tight corset. And then fell asleep.

***

Elliot woke to his phone buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, and he found it blindly and said, “‘lo?” into it.

“Elliot,” said Jane. “What the fuck. Weren’t we supposed to have breakfast?”

“Fuck.” Elliot sat straight up, disturbing Ian Purrtis, and tried to find a clock. Fucking Nicholas, how did he not have some kind of _Mad Men_ clock on the wall? “What time is it?”

“Past breakfast time. Listen, what _happened_ last night? Hazel is, like, hysterical over this podcast meeting, Evan and Anna told me you gave them _relationship_ advice, Blake said you told him you _love performance art_ , Jonah just said you, and I quote, ‘got rubbed the right way,’ I can’t get in touch with Caroline for her testimony but I have those texts from you last night, and when I asked Nicholas where you were he said you were probably sleeping and to call you instead of text. Did you get super-drunk last night and sing ‘Genie in a Bottle’?”

“No,” said Elliot. “I actually...I…” Elliot trailed off and realized he was just smiling helplessly out the window.

“Elliot?” said Jane.

“I’m going to meet you for breakfast,” Elliot said. “I need to take a shower first, though. Sorry. I’ll buy you all the mimosas.”

“You’d fucking better,” Jane grumbled.

***

Jane, dressed all in white as usual, in a seat by the open window at the Brownstone, looked so wonderful that Elliot insisted on tugging her up and into a crushing hug.

“I _missed_ you,” Elliot said.

“Are you okay?” Jane demanded. “What is going _on_?”

Elliot sat next to her and said, “I think, like, Nicholas and I are a thing now.”

Jane stared at him for a moment, and then said, “What?”

“Like, I think so,” said Elliot, unsure how to distill it into words. “I called myself his boyfriend this morning and he didn’t even blink. He says he’s in love with me, and I’m in love with him, too. There was enthusiastic sex. I think it’s a thing.”

Jane, after another long moment, smiled suddenly, looking unexpectedly radiant. “ _Elliot_ ,” she said.

“It’s good, right?” said Elliot. “I think it’s good.”

“I hope you think it’s better than good.”

Elliot let himself smile as wide as he wanted to. He said, “I think it’s fucking _amazing_.”

“Good.” Jane sat back, still smiling. “It’s good. Suits your aesthetic. I knew I was right to put him in charge of your blowjobs.”

“Christ,” said Elliot, and flicked a sugar packet at Jane. “Did you know how I felt about him?”

“Elliot.” Jane gave him a look. “You two were _so fucking obvious_. I have watched you take calls from Nicholas when Nicholas was _currently outside the door of the place where you were_. Like, you two can’t even wait two minutes to talk to each other. Plus, you look at each other like you’re Maggie Cheung and Tony Leung in _In the Mood for Love_.”

“I thought it was more like Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth in _Pride and Prejudice_ ,” said Elliot.

“You thought he looked at you like you were Jennifer Ehle in _Pride and Prejudice_ and it took you this long to say anything to him about it?”

“I didn’t...You say it like it’s easy,” Elliot said, annoyed. “You say it like it’s easy to look at one of your best friends in the whole universe and tell them that you want more than... That’s _not_ easy.”

The waiter said, “Sorry for the delay, sir, did you want to order something?”

Elliot said, “I don’t know, eggs, I guess, scrambled,” because he didn’t really care.

Jane lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out the window and said, smiling devilishly, “Tell me: Is he a good kisser?”

“I refuse to kiss and tell,” said Elliot, feeling very proud of how adult that seemed.

“Ha, you’re blushing,” Jane said.  

Elliot ignored this, being Very Adult and Mature. “Nicholas told me to tell you to be _en garde_ because he is going to spoil me terribly for a little while and I might run amok.”

Jane blew a smoke ring and said, “I don’t know. I think you’re going to be okay.”

***

Elliot ate his eggs and listened to Jane talk about how stupid and annoying a lot of the people at Google were.

“Well,” remarked Elliot, “good thing you thrive on having annoying people all around you.”

“I don’t thrive on having annoying people all around me, I just have to _deal_ with it,” said Jane.

“If you don’t like working with annoying people, find new people to work with,” Elliot said. “I mean, life’s too short to--”

“I know you mean well, but please spare me the life advice from the privileged rich white boy who has everything he ever wanted and gets most stressed out about how to match his suit to his pink drink when he goes out at night.”

Elliot lifted his eyebrows at her and said, “Wow.”

Jane huffed out a breath. “That was harsh, sorry. I’m just saying, they’re not any different at Google than they would be anywhere else. The world is full of sexist and racist people and we just have to _deal_ with it. You think you can find a place where everyone will treat you with respect and, like, _yeah_ , it’s called _all of society_ , so can you please just sit there and recognize your privilege and nod sympathetically and tell me it sucks.”

“It does suck,” Elliot said.

Jane sighed. “Yeah. So we’re about to go into a business meeting where everything you say is going to be automatically overvalued because you’re you and everything Hazel and I say is going to be automatically undervalued because we’re us, so if you could remember that, that would be helpful.”

“Done,” said Elliot, making a mental note of this. “What else can I do?”

“Well, you’re buying the mimosas, so that helps.”

“You look in need of a shenanigan,” Elliot said.

“What do you have in mind? Something good?”

Elliot considered. “We could take a duck tour,” he suggested. “I haven’t done that since I was eight. I think they were pretty fun.”

Jane burst out laughing. “What the fuck, Nicholas’s penis has managed to turn you into Mr. Rogers.”

***

Elliot texted Nicholas on the way to meet Hazel and Tim and Jonah for a pre-podcast-meeting meeting, while Jane was marshaling them a Lyft and trying to explain that she was totally allowed to smoke where she was definitely not allowed to smoke.

_Jane says your penis turned me into Mr. Rogers._

Nicholas texted back immediately, the way Nicholas always texted back immediately. The text read, _You would, no doubt, look delectable in a cardigan._

While Elliot was considering if that meant he should go out and buy a cardigan, Nicholas texted again, _I’m going to stay late to study so tomorrow can be cleared for us._

Elliot smiled and smiled at the _us_ , and brushed his finger over it fondly, and then texted back, _Oh, good, gives me time to procure a cardigan._

Jane said, “Here is the Lyft, stop sexting.”

“We weren’t sexting,” Elliot denied, and clambered into the car after her.

“Hey!” the Lyft driver greeted him. “It’s the sex dude!”

Jane lifted her eyebrows at him.

Elliot said awkwardly, “Oh. Hi.”

“How’d the sex go?”

“Yeah, it went...um, really well,” said Elliot, and to Jane, “He drove me and Nicholas home last night.”

“Oh, God,” said Jane. “Poor guy. I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” said the Lyft driver, still sounding endlessly amused. “They were two of the politest indecent people I’ve had in a while.”

Jane laughed and laughed.

***

Hazel was clearly nervous. They sat in a Dunkin, nursing iced coffees, and Elliot went over the data so patiently, again and again, and Hazel was still a nervous wreck.

“Look,” said Elliot, “you know this now, I’ve walked you through all of this and it’s all tied up in a nice little presentation for you, anyway, you don’t have to say anything at all, really.”

“I get that this is _your_ thing,” Hazel said sulkily, “all of this corporate speak, you think this is easy to just learn all of this stuff at the last minute, but it’s not.”

Elliot thought of how, well, it _was_ easy to him. He _got_ this. Navigating the confusing topography of his relationship with Nicholas had taken him years to sort out. Life was weird. Elliot wanted to be like, _I understand social media statistics, but it took me years to figure out how to hook up with my best friend_.

Elliot said instead, “Sorry. I should have given you all of this information much earlier.”

“Yeah,” said Hazel. “You should have.” Then she sighed. “But I didn’t ask you for it.”

“Okay,” said Elliot, “I’m happy to talk about the statistics in detail, you can just get the big picture in place.”

“What are the statistics on last night’s party?” asked Jane. “Did people like it?”

Which made Elliot remember-- _again_ \--that he had _never even looked_.

“I tweeted about it,” said Jonah, “and got lots of favorable replies about people having a good time.”

“Oh, good,” said Elliot, pulling out his phone and thinking that probably Emerson James should tweet, too.

Except Emerson James _had_ tweeted. Nicholas had clearly done it from class.

_Thanks for coming out to the party last night! It was kind of a life-changing event for me. #mysterien_

And his next tweet was, _He cannot pardon her the history of the Saraband. You know the history of the Saraband?_

Elliot snorted at it. The fans, in a paroxysm of confusion, had uncovered that it was a quote from _The Three Musketeers_ but had no idea what else to do with it.

Elliot replied to it from the _Time Ravel_ Twitter with _#richelieu_.

“When Elliot’s done using _Time Ravel_ social media to flirt with his new boyfriend,” said Jonah, “we can probably get back to work.”

“Whatever,” said Elliot, too warm and glow-y to say it with any heat. “You were using _Time Ravel_ social media the other day to flirt with some shirtless Shakespearean actor.”

“Yes,” agreed Jonah affably. “He was a _shirtless Shakespearean actor_.”

“Alright, you two, _focus_ ,” said Jane. “You’re both the best at social media flirting, we can stop with the pointless alpha male posturing now.”  

Elliot’s phone buzzed with a reply tweet from Emerson James: _#F_

***

The producer shook everybody’s hand and they all took seats around a conference table and then he said, “Well. Your podcast is something else. It’s quite a tidy little package. I mean, a clever story with a good hook and a really astonishingly effective social media campaign. Tell me how the whole thing got started.” Elliot heard Hazel draw breath to speak, and then the producer said, “Elliot,” still smiling genially.

Elliot felt all eyes on him. He opened his mouth. Where had the whole thing started? It...started at a pop-up restaurant for ironic corn-dog lovers, thought Elliot. It started with a hike through Walden, and a blazer, and a pineapple. It started with _The Iceman Cometh_ , and a million line-readings, and a regional theater award. It started with the couch they wrestled out of the garage in the Berkshires together, or with Ian Purrtis arriving on their fire escape before he had been called Ian Purrtis, or with Blur. It started with ruby cufflinks and a chain with a cardinal on the end.

It started.

And somehow or other, it had never ended.

Elliot said, “Jane told me she got a job at Facebook, and that Hazel had an idea for a podcast. So it started, really, with them.” Elliot flourished his hand at Hazel and Jane, a _take-it-away_ gesture.

Hazel blinked, startled, and then looked at the producer and started in eagerly.

***

The meeting went well. They went to Deep Ellum to celebrate. Elliot texted Nicholas, _Maybe a formal offer to join the network next week? At Deep Ellum_. Nicholas texted back, _Keep me posted, I can maybe show up later_. And then switched over to group text to add, _Heard the meeting went well! Congratulations!_

Elliot sat next to Jonah at Deep Ellum and said, “I feel like maybe I promised Blake last night that I would talk to you or something.”

“Yes, I would imagine many things from last night are a blur in that head of yours,” remarked Jonah drily, with his typical deep amusement.

Elliot said, “Blake is, like, _serious_ about the whole thing.”

“Serious about what whole thing?” said Jonah. “He had giant ice cubes in the pool at the last party. That was serious?”

“He’s trying to impress you,” said Elliot. “He thinks you’re some big deal or something.”

“Wow, Elliot. Thanks. Very flattering,” said Jonah. “And he thinks _giant ice cubes_ are impressive? I mean, they _were_ , I guess, but specifically impressive to _me_?”

“That may have been my fault,” Elliot admitted.

“You told him I would like giant ice cubes?”

“Accidentally,” said Elliot.

Jonah lifted his eyebrows.

“Anyway,” said Elliot, “he’s really serious, about breaking into the business.”

“Breaking into the business,” Jonah echoed.

“Well, I don’t know, whatever your terminology is. He wants you to notice him, and, like, offer to help him out. And Blake’s a good guy who could be really good at this.”

“Blake’s a sociopath,” Jonah said.

“Yeah, but a _good_ one,” said Elliot.

Jonah laughed.

***

The evening had wound itself later, wearing down into, naturally, Fuck Marry Kill. Caroline was doing a Romantic poets’ edition. Jonah, predictably, had a lot of opinions on Romantic poets that Hazel was good-naturedly combatting him on.

Jane said, “Fucking Byron, seriously? Such a fucking drama baby.”

“Hey,” said Jonah, “I have been known to fuck dramatic people before. It can be a good time.”

Elliot’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out and smiled at Nicholas’s name and thought of Jane, saying that Nicholas called him while on his way to see him.

“Are you still out?” Nicholas asked when Elliot answered.

“Yes,” Elliot said.

“I’m on my way,” said Nicholas.

“Nicholas is coming,” Elliot announced to the table at large. “And I’m getting another round.”

There was a chorus of “bring me back”s that Elliot generally ignored because how the hell was he carrying all of those drinks over. But Hazel came to help him and leaped around him and gave him some effusive drunk hugs and thanked him again for his help with the meeting, and Elliot was a little grateful to send her off with a pile of drinks.

The bartender had just slid him two mojitos when Nicholas said, “Hello, Richelieu,” in that achingly fond Elliot-tone that Elliot loved so much, and then he kissed the back of Elliot’s neck.

Elliot smiled and basically sank back into him. “Hi,” he said, and turned his head.

Nicholas gave him a very light kiss. Elliot got why, because if Nicholas really kissed him, they’d never get out of there. And also it didn’t matter how light it was: Elliot was at a bar being greeted with a kiss by Nicholas. His life was _amazing_.

“You look good enough to eat,” Nicholas said.

“I look the same as I usually do.”

“Exactly,” said Nicholas. “How was your day? The meeting went well?”

“Mojito well,” Elliot said, pressing one into Nicholas’s hand.

“And who’s the other one for?”

“Me,” said Elliot.

“Plot twist,” said Nicholas.

“I’ve been drinking them all night, and they’re horrible.”

Nicholas laughed and kissed him again, like he couldn’t help it, which Elliot liked.

“Where is everyone?” Nicholas said. “On the patio?”

“Yeah. One second.” Elliot took Nicholas’s hand and stepped into him, against him, and breathed. He wanted to say, _One day this will stop being new and I’ll stop feeling like I have to touch you all the time_. But he didn’t. Because Nicholas cradled a hand at the back of his head and kissed his temple and Elliot couldn’t imagine not craving this adoring touch, this sensation of being cherished.

Elliot took one last breath and then straightened and smiled at Nicholas, who smiled back.

Elliot said, “How was class? Did you learn a lot?”

“I feel like I have learned a great deal,” Nicholas said.

***

The patio group greeted Nicholas enthusiastically.

“All hail Emerson!” proclaimed Hazel, with another drunken hug, and the group echoed “Emerson!” and held up glasses.

“Okay,” Nicholas said, looking embarrassed, “not really.”

“The podcast producer loves you,” Hazel said.

“He said our chemistry was very Tracy-Hepburn,” added Jonah.

“Tracy-Hepburn?” Nicholas said. “Really? Which of us is which?”

Jonah laughed.

Hazel said, “It’s great. If they make us the offer, there’ll be so much money for distribution. We can make the most amazing second season. The sky is the limit.”

“Well,” said Tim. “Maybe not the actual _sky_.”

Nicholas said, “Wow,” and then again, “Wow. Huh.”

“I know,” Hazel said happily. “Crazy, right?”

***

Their Lyft driver was not the one who had driven them last night.

Elliot was relieved not to have to answer any more questions about his sex life.

He curled up close to Nicholas, because he couldn’t resist touching him, and said, “Hey.”

“Yeah,” Nicholas replied, snuggling back.

“You don’t want to be Emerson James anymore, do you?” said Elliot.

Nicholas sighed and turned his head to look at Elliot. “How obvious was that?”

“Hazel wouldn’t have noticed if Sarah Koenig herself walked in and did a striptease on the table.”

Nicholas said, “I never really wanted to do the podcast. _You_ wanted to do the podcast. And I did it because it made you happy and acting was more fun than I remembered it being and for a little while playing a part was great. And it turned out to be very important.” Nicholas’s hand came up, to splay along Elliot’s jaw. “But I want to be a doctor. That’s important to me.”

Elliot nodded, and leaned forward, and kissed Nicholas, and said, “It’s important to me, too. You, being happy, is really important to me.”

“And the podcast,” Nicholas said, “it’s already a lot of work that’s just going to get to be _more_ work. And I can’t...lose focus here. On the things I really want. Which includes you. And if I’m so busy trying to be a med student and a podcast star that I forget to be a good boyfriend--”

“Spending all your time falling in love with Jonah,” Elliot said.

“That’s _acting_ ,” Nicholas said. “It’s Sebastien who falls in love with Jonah. It’s not me. My heart was already taken ages ago. It happened at a pop-up corn dog stand.”

Elliot smiled into the skin underneath Nicholas’s ear, scraped his teeth there. He said, “Hazel’s boyfriend will have to find some other love story to write. I think Sebastien and the Mysterious Man just go off and live happily ever after.”

“Oh, do you?” teased Nicholas.

“The prognosis is good,” said Elliot. “What does the future doctor think of the prognosis?”

“I think...you’re so lovely I can’t stand it.”

“No one has ever described me as ‘lovely’ before,” said Elliot drily. “You’re clearly intellectually compromised at the moment.”

***

They were in bed, sprawled in moonlight and nothing else, and Elliot was still floaty from sex, and Nicholas said, “I have to ask.”

“Mmm,” said Elliot drowsily. “Ask me anything.”

Nicholas wasn’t meeting his eyes. His hand was skimming lightly along Elliot’s rib cage, barely touching, and Nicholas was watching that motion. He said, “I spent years, loving you, with this sort of mute desperation. Unsure what I wanted to do about it, or what I could do about it. Hating myself for being too much of a coward to make a move, and being too much of a coward to walk away. I spent all these years trying to read what was going on inside your head, wishing you would...look at me just once the way you’ve been looking at me now, like, I wanted that so badly, and you didn’t seem inclined to--Why now? When I’ve been standing here the whole time?”

“I could ask the same thing of you,” Elliot said, after a long thoughtful moment.

“I was scared,” said Nicholas. “This whole time.”

“I was, too. Until I was more scared that you were falling in love with Jonah.”

“Again: I was never in love with Jonah, Elliot. That was acting.”

“I know. But it looked it. It _sounded_ it. You...You used this tone of voice, I’d only ever heard you use on me, and that laugh you have, your Elliot laugh, and I…”

“It was you, Elliot,” Nicholas said. “I sounded the way I do with you because I was pretending to be in love. That’s how I sound.”

“It just made me think, like, if you met someone else, and you talked to them that way, and you looked at them that way, and I think it was bubbling inside me, this idea that, maybe, it wouldn’t ruin everything, maybe it would _work_. What about you? Why now?”

“You started looking at me...a way that allowed me to hope. A way I’d never really seen before. A way that made me think that maybe--just maybe--I could get you to think of me as a boyfriend, as a potential mate, that maybe you would see...me. And how perfect we would be together. And we’d give it a try.”

“So far,” Elliot remarked after a moment, “it’s been a successful try.”

***

They spent Saturday in bed.

In the middle of the afternoon, Elliot said, “Actually, there’s something very important we need to discuss before we go any further.”

Nicholas, flat on his back and still catching his breath, lifted his eyebrows and said, “We haven’t gone far enough yet?”

Elliot said, “No, this is _very important_. We have to discuss the Tony Leung contract.”

“The... Tony Leung contract,” echoed Nicholas. “Which is what?”

“It’s your contractual obligation to allow me to sleep with Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung,” said Elliot. “Well, and Wong Kar Wai only in the event that sleeping with Wong Kar Wai is the only way to get to Tony Leung and/or Maggie Cheung.”

“The list of people you’re allowed to fuck includes the entire Hong Kong New Wave?” Nicholas said. “Of course it does, what am I saying.”

“Not list, _contract_ ,” Elliot specified.

“What’s my list?” said Nicholas. “Do I get a list?”

“My list will do for us both,” said Elliot.

Nicholas grinned. “Will it, now.”

“Yes,” Elliot insisted. “Like if you had the chance to fuck Tony Leung by yourself and didn’t, I would be heartbroken to have missed my chance to have had sex with Tony Leung by way of the transitive property, so Tony Leung should go on your list as well.”

“But if I got to sleep with Tony Leung and didn’t call you to join in, though, wouldn’t that also make you upset?”

“Well, sure,” said Elliot, “but just on the off-chance that I can’t join in because I’m off somewhere and not immediately available, like if I’m off having sex with Maggie Cheung.”

“What is this debate we are even having right now?” said Nicholas.

“Look,” said Elliot, “I’m just saying that it’s important we immediately establish Tony Leung parameters. It's the dealbreaker moment. We might as well get it over with early."

"Is this a thing you do? In all your relationships?" Nicholas was laughing openly now, a Elliot laugh, joyful and achingly fond, and Elliot wanted to make him laugh that laugh forever.

“Yes,” said Elliot with dignity. “Call Caroline if you don’t believe me.”

“Oh, I am absolutely calling Caroline,” said Nicholas, and he called Caroline.

“Yes,” said Caroline when Nicholas put her on speaker. “We had to have the Tony Leung contract _notarized_.”  

“Lawyer family,” Elliot clarified, in case Nicholas needed the reminder.

“Who notarizes the Tony Leung contract?” Nicholas asked. “Do you have your _dad_ notarize your sex contracts?”

“No, he made Jane become a notary just so she could notarize his sex contracts,” Caroline said helpfully.

“Jane’s a notary?” Nicholas said. “Huh. That’s actually really useful. I am offended you’ve been monopolizing Jane’s notary services for your sex contracts.”

“Can I go now?” Caroline said. “I have had enough talking about sex contracts that don’t even involve me.”

“Do you want to be on our sex contract, Caroline?” Nicholas asked.

“You guys need more twosome sex before you start talking threesome sex,” Caroline said, and hung up.

Nicholas tossed his phone back onto the nightstand.

Elliot said, “If you want to make edits to the contract, have your lawyer contact my lawyer--”

“I,” said Nicholas, dangerously confident as he tugged Elliot over to him, “am going to fuck you better than any fantasy you ever had about Tony Leung.”

Elliot swallowed and said, “...Okay.”

Nicholas grinned.

***

On Sunday, Nicholas burnt Eggos and frowned at them sadly and Elliot made them bellinis and they brought the _Times_ back to bed with them and Elliot said, “Why did we used to spend so much time out of bed?” and Nicholas laughed and kissed him and kissed him.

Eventually, though, they did get out of bed, in search of food.

“We live in a city,” Elliot said, when Nicholas indicated the empty state of his refrigerator. “The best thing about living in a city is that we can have food delivered right to us and never have to get dressed.”

“Are you going down to get the food naked?” Nicholas asked.

“That doesn’t count,” said Elliot. “That’s, like, fake-dressed.”

They ordered food and set themselves up on Nicholas’s couch, where Elliot enjoyed getting to snuggle and getting to love Nicholas _so much_ when he gave up on reality television and pulled up the BBC’s _Pride and Prejudice_.

Elliot said, “Please pay attention to all the different ways Colin Firth looks at Jennifer Ehle.”

Nicholas said, “He just always looks adoring.”

“Exactly,” said Elliot, pleased.

Nicholas ran his fingers distractedly up and down Elliot’s arm and Elliot tried to focus on the movie but eventually gave up and ended up making out with Nicholas on his couch.

Probably Colin Firth would have approved.

***

On Monday, Nicholas went to class and Elliot tried to work and just... _couldn’t_. He couldn’t understand how Nicholas had just gone to class like the world was the same as it had ever been instead of _technicolor_.

Elliot decided to kill some time by going to see his mother, and Elliot brought flowers, because it gave him a quasi-excuse for being there, he was always promising his mother he’d bring her flowers and he’d never done it.

His mother was sitting at the kitchen table with swatches of fabric all around her, and she looked at him like he had two heads when he walked in.

“Oh, no.” She tipped her head down so she could look at him over the top of his glasses. “What have you done?”

“What?” he said. “I haven’t done anything. What a horrible slander.”

“What are the flowers for?”

“I always say I’m going to get you flowers.” Elliot handed across the flowers. “So there you go.”

His mother continued to look suspicious. “Right, you always say you’re going to get me flowers, and you have never once gotten me flowers. So. What have you done?”

“Nothing,” Elliot said. _Nicholas_ , Elliot thought, and thought of buying people’s love, or of expressing love through gifts. Elliot gestured to the flowers and said, “You’re a good mom, and I’m a bad son, so here, have some flowers in an effort to make up for that.”

“You’re not a bad son,” she said. “Is everything okay?”

Elliot found himself blurting out, “Nicholas and I are together now.”

“Together?” his mother echoed.

“Yeah, like… dating. Like a relationship. Together.”

His mother stared at him.

And it was odd, because Elliot had never once doubted his mother’s complete support of him, in contrast to his father, who he always felt awkward around, but her reaction made him wonder if he’d been misplaced in his confidence. “Oh,” he said, faltering. “I thought...You’re not happy?”

“I’m...bewildered. What do you mean, ‘a relationship’? Haven’t you and Nicholas been ‘together’ for years now?”

“Not...not like this,” Elliot said, which he thought was a nice way to say _no one had anybody else’s cock in their mouths_.

“You sleep over his place all the time,” his mother pointed out.

“Yeah, but, like, on the couch.”

“Elliot,” his mother said, “honestly, I am totally not alarmed that you’ve been having sex with Nicholas all this time, I’ve been okay with that--”

“But I haven’t been,” Elliot said, a little annoyed that his mother was pushing back on this. “I just started having sex with him.”

“You just started having sex with Nicholas,” his mother said flatly.

“Okay,” said Elliot. “I think I am uncomfortable with this entire conversation where you seem to be upset I haven’t been having more sex.”

“I’m not upset about that. Have as much or as little sex as you want to have. I’m upset that it’s apparently taken you this long to admit you were in a relationship with Nicholas. It’s going to take you _forever_ to decide to have some children at this rate.”

“ _Mom_ ,” said Elliot, appalled.

“Never mind,” his mother said, and then stood and gave him a hug. “Are you happy?”

“Yes,” Elliot said. “I’m happy.”

***

Elliot went back to Nicholas’s. Elliot tried to work. Elliot really thought about expressing love and affection through ways that didn’t involve money.

So Elliot got dressed in a three-piece suit _sans_ jacket, fastening his ruby cufflinks, tucking his cardinal fob in, leaving his collar unbuttoned and casual, tie-less. He surveyed his reflection in the mirror in Nicholas’s bedroom and approved of himself. Then Elliot looked through Nicholas’s music collection, thinking of _aesthetics_ , and found his copy of _13_ , and put it on the record player.

Nicholas walked in from school and Elliot started the record and said, “Come here.”

“Aww,” said Nicholas, tossing his messenger bag on the table, “am I always going to come home to you greeting me with Blur?”

“Sit,” Elliot said, and shoved Nicholas down to the couch.

Nicholas said, looking up at him, “Okay, but--what are you wearing?”

Elliot held up his left wrist, let the ruby wink at Nicholas.

Nicholas said, “Is there a reason you’re--”

“This,” said Elliot, “is what an aesthetic blowjob is like. So come on, come on, come on, love’s the greatest thing.”

“Fuck,” said Nicholas thickly, “did you just quote Blur to me?”

Elliot settled himself between Nicholas’s legs, a hand on each of his knees, the way Nicholas had that night at karaoke, what felt like ages ago, and Elliot leaned forward, and Elliot hovered close enough to Nicholas’s mouth that he could feel when Nicholas’s tongue darted out to lick his lips. But he didn’t kiss. He murmured, “Tender is the touch of someone that you love too much.”

Nicholas took an unsteady breath and said, “Jesus.”

Elliot said, smug, “And here you thought I couldn’t make songs in bed sexy.”

“I really never, ever thought that about you,” Nicholas said, and tried to catch Elliot’s head, to pull him into a kiss.

Elliot dodged him, hands already done unbuckling Nicholas’s belt, already unfastening Nicholas’s pants. He said, “I’m setting a mood here. You only get to kiss me after I’ve made you come and then you get to taste yourself on me.”

Nicholas groaned and squeezed his eyes shut and said, “Hurry up.”

“Now, now,” said Elliot, with a teasing pay-attention finger on Nicholas’s erection. “You have to watch, it’s part of the aesthetic.”

He waited until Nicholas opened his eyes and blinked down at him, dark and heavy-lidded.

Elliot grinned and said, “Pay attention,” and then sucked Nicholas off very aesthetically indeed, if he did say so himself, which he did, judging by Nicholas’s bitten-off oaths and hands in Elliot’s hair and pleasure-glossed eyes and the way he said, “ElliotElliotElliot,” when he came.

Elliot, buzzing with the astonishing high of Nicholas wanting him, needing him, begging for him, let Nicholas pull him up and into a messy, uncoordinated kiss.

“I love you,” Nicholas was saying blurrily into Elliot’s mouth. “I love you.”

“Touch me,” Elliot sobbed, suddenly desperate now that he’d shed his aesthetic role-playing, “please touch me, I need you to--” Nicholas, thankfully, cut him off with a kiss and got a hand around him and Elliot came almost immediately.

Elliot collapsed against Nicholas in a messy, tangled heap on their couch. Nicholas's fingers combed at the hair on the nape of Elliot’s neck and he brushed a kiss over Elliot’s temple and panted, “Fucking best aesthetic. I want that aesthetic all the time.”

Elliot grinned and settled into Nicholas, feeling so _content_. He was _addicted_ to the way he felt when Nicholas's hands were on him, like he was...something amazing, and he couldn’t believe how long he’d gone without that feeling.

Nicholas said, after a second, “But I was trying to tell you, before we got so aesthetically carried away, that my study group is coming over tonight.”

Elliot, after a second, started laughing against Nicholas’s shoulder. Then he lifted his head and said, “I’m glad you didn’t walk in with them. It would have destroyed my aesthetic.”

“From now on,” Nicholas said, “know that I am enthusiastically in favor of your brand of sexual aesthetics, but also I will try to forewarn you if I’m showing up here with people in tow.”

Elliot said, suddenly worried Nicholas might expect it, “I don’t know if I’m going to meet you every day with some kind of aesthetic blowjob set-up.”

“Hey.” Nicholas forced Elliot’s eyes to meet his, hand cupped around the back of his head. “I wouldn’t expect you to. I’m saying, if you _want_ to, it’s all good. Whatever you want.”

“What do _you_ want?” asked Elliot.

Nicholas’s eyes flickered over Elliot’s features, soft and fond, a Colin Firth look. He said, “I want aesthetic sex, and I want unaesthetic sex, and I want no sex at all on some occasions. I want you to wake up to and you to fall asleep with, in our bed. I want you sleepy in our kitchen drinking all of our best coffee. I want you cuddling Ian Purrtis whenever I look up from a textbook. I want you cuddling me sometimes, and me cuddling you other times, and Ian Purrtis jealous either way, so that mostly we end up cuddling all of us.  I want a front-row seat and-or a starring role for all of your best shenanigans. I want so many games of Fuck Marry Kill. _So_ many of them.”

“I can do all of that,” Elliot said, nodding. “I can do all of it, if you keep telling me what you want.”

“How about we just keep talking about what we both want, and how it fits together?” Nicholas suggested.

Elliot nodded again.

Nicholas kissed him gently and said softly, “Hey. Richelieu. We’ve been doing this a long time, you and me. We really have been. Don’t freak yourself out panicking. I love you kind of a lot. I have for a while. I’m here, the way I always have been.”

Elliot took a shaky breath in but exhaled it slowly, steadily. He said, “Me, too. Me, too,” and kissed Nicholas back.

And then their doorbell rang.

***

Elliot’s mother kept saying they should come to dinner, enough that he mentioned it to Nicholas, prefaced by “we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” but of course Nicholas said, “No, that sounds good. How nice. When does she want to do it?”

So Elliot made plans and spent a lot of time in Nicholas’s bedroom trying out clothes for the aesthetic of Having Dinner At Your Parents’ With Your New-Old Boyfriend.

Nicholas watched him and said, “Okay, I should be the one nervously trying on outfits. They’re _your_ parents. You know they think you walk on water.”

“They really don’t,” Elliot said, pulling his shirt up over his head and reaching for the next one. “They think _you_ walk on water. That’s why you’re not nervous. You’re going to be a doctor and save people’s lives. I’m a business analyst. No one even knows what that fucking is.”

“Elliot,” said Nicholas, “correct me if I’m wrong, but I listen to you when you talk about your job, and last week I’m pretty sure you said you saved a company three hundred thousand dollars by forcing them to listen to your expertise. Is that what you said?”

Elliot rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to the perfect aesthetic length and said, “Yes.”

“That’s a big deal,” Nicholas said.

“It’s not saving people’s lives.”

“No, it’s probably saving people’s _jobs_ , and that’s important, too. Get out of your own head this idea that your career isn’t ‘serious’ enough or something. You’re the only one who thinks that. You’re good at what you do and you like it, that doesn’t invalidate it. A career doesn’t have to be something you hate.”

Elliot looked at his reflection and grudgingly admitted that maybe Nicholas had a point. “You might be right,” he said.

“I am,” said Nicholas. “Can we go now?”

So they went.

And dinner with his parents was...nice. Actually, really, really nice. And Elliot didn’t know why he’d expected otherwise. His parents liked Nicholas, and asked him about school, and listened to his responses, but they also asked Elliot about work, and when Elliot answered shortly with, “It’s fine,” Nicholas suddenly added, “Last week Elliot saved a company three hundred thousand dollars.”

And Elliot’s father leaned on the table and said seriously, “Elliot, explain to me how that happens. What exactly is it that you do to accomplish that?”

And he didn’t sound...critical, or disapproving, or skeptical of Elliot’s choices. He just sounded like he didn’t know and he wanted to know.

Maybe, Elliot was willing to admit, that was always how his father had sounded about his job.

Elliot explained, forcing himself not to be defensively pithy in his description, and his father listened carefully, with interest, and asked questions that were insightful, and said things like, “Fascinating. I had no idea,” and Elliot felt...like an idiot who hadn’t realized how much everyone around him loved him.

Luckily, he was getting a little used to that.

***

Hazel said that she was, of course, sad to hear that Nicholas couldn’t make any more _Time Ravel_ , but it gave her the opportunity, she said, to explore other stories. They were sitting around Blake’s parents’ pool, feet dangling in the water. There were no ice cubes in the pool. Instead, they were supposed to be racing rubber ducks back and forth, although nobody was doing it.

Hazel looked at Elliot and said, “And you’ll still do social media for us, right? Wanderlust New England says you have special social media talent.”

“Yes,” Nicholas said. “Elliot’s talent is knowing just the right emoji for every communication.”

“There is never a right emoji,” Elliot said, “but I do know how to use what _other_ people think are the right emojis.”

“It’s the hashtags,” Hazel said seriously. “You’re good at hashtags.”

“It’s all about the network,” Blake said, “you’re good at connecting the right networks together.”

“I think it’s just that you’re a salesman,” said Caroline. “You’re constantly selling things. Yourself included.”

Elliot said, “I feel like we all need to be stoned. I want to avoid everything about this conversation.”

Jonah looked at Nicholas and said, “Alas, I suppose we’ll always have Antarctica.”

“Here’s lookin’ at you, kid,” Nicholas replied.

Elliot said, “Seriously, Blake, don’t you have any weed?”

***

On Saturday morning, Nicholas met with his study group, and Elliot sat on the couch with _Infernal Affairs_ on in the background and contemplated Emerson James’s social media. Emerson was still getting steady Asks and @s but had been mostly silent since the cryptic _Three Musketeers_ tweet. Elliot wondered if there should be some grand explanation for Emerson’s absence from the next season of _Time Ravel_. Should they give Emerson a majestic send-off?

Nicholas texted on his way back to the apartment with _Food. Food should be eaten by us. Do you have any preferences, as I’m already out?_

Elliot texted back, _Thai_ , and then, _What do you think should happen to Emerson?_

There was a pause before the reply, which was: _...Nothing?_

Elliot frowned and scrolled through Emerson James’s Tumblr and didn’t reply, because they could just talk about it in person.

Nicholas dropped the Thai on the table and looked at Elliot, cross-legged on the couch with his tablet on his lap, and said, “Why should anything happen to Emerson James?”

“We can’t just never have him say anything ever again,” Elliot said. “It’s, like, a dangling thread.”

“Unaesthetic,” Nicholas said. “Hi, by the way.” He leaned in for a kiss.

“Hi,” Elliot said. “How many different ways did you learn about to save my life?”

“Eighty-seven,” Nicholas said. “Hello, Ian Purrtis.” He scratched behind the cat’s ears and sat at the table and began spooning Thai food onto the plates Elliot had set out.

Elliot left Emerson’s social media to sit at the table opposite Nicholas. Ian Purrtis followed to sniff at their food and complain when they refused to let him have any.

Nicholas told a story about Natasha and Felix in his study group, and Elliot asked about Felix’s blog he was running, and about Natasha’s marathon training, and about the name of Suzette’s eyebrow waxer, which she had promised to get to him.

“I forgot to ask her,” Nicholas said. “Ronaldo is pestering about when you’re going to let him teach you how to cook, though. Everyone is quite sure you’d look very hot in an apron. Me included.”

“I will wear an apron whenever you like,” Elliot said. “Cooking might be another story.”

“Emerson’s Tumblr,” Nicholas said suddenly. “Am I ‘loin de toi’?”

Elliot froze. “What?”

“Obviously that Tumblr was your Tumblr, Elliot. You have posts on there from years ago.”

“They’re post-dated,” said Elliot.

“You have Tony Leung tagged with ‘my sexual awakening is also my prison.’ That’s the most you tag for Tony Leung I’ve ever read. And you also have a lot of photos of men in fog tagged ‘loin de toi.’ Am I ‘loin de toi’?”

Elliot considered. Then he said, “My favorite aesthetic is that of people who never take regular photos of themselves but are always half-turned-away, in profile, in a weird pose.”

Nicholas Elliot-laughed and said, “I’m sorry you felt you needed to tag me with that. I’m sorry you felt I was so...loin de toi.”

“I was…” Elliot thought, then said, “You just seemed impossible to me. You seemed so unattainable. It just seemed unbelievable that we might ever...make this work. I mean. You're you. And I'm me.”

After a long moment Nicholas said, “And what do you think now? Do you think we could work?”

“I think...it seems like yes. It seems like... _better_ than yes.”

Nicholas said, “We’ll tell everyone the truth about Emerson James.”

Elliot blinked, surprised. “The truth?”

“We’ll just say he lived happily ever after.”

***

It started like this:

Jane, on a patio, in bright April sunshine, saying she was leaving.

It could have ended, Elliot thinks later, so many ways. And maybe in all of those ways, he would have been happy. But here, this way, it doesn’t end. Here, this way, Nicholas falls in love with his pediatric rotation, as he suspected he would. Nicholas gets a residency at MGH, even though Elliot said he would have moved for him. Hazel gets herself a hit podcast, and then another one. She and Tim don’t last romantically, but their creative partnership snowballs. Elliot still does social media for them, on the side, especially during Nicholas’s long residency work shifts. Elliot grows adept at Internet shenanigans. Jane moves from Google to a start-up that makes a huge IPO and lands Jane with a gazillion dollars. She throws some of it into funding space exploration, so that she and Elliot can do shenanigans on Mars someday. Jonah gives Blake a break and then possibly a couple of blowjobs? Elliot tries not to ask about that one but it’s all cool. Caroline’s photography gets featured by the _Improper Bostonian_ and she is able to properly hire somebody other than Elliot to cart all of her equipment around. Elliot finds a kitten and brings him home and they name him Shenanigan and Ian Purrtis pretends to hate him but gets very worried whenever Shenanigan cries. Nicholas points out they’re not even supposed to have one cat, so they move to a place that lets them have cats. Elliot is very happy and promptly gets two more cats.

Evan and Anna get married, and they go to the wedding, Nicholas finally at the end of his residency and seeming settled and pleased, and they hike Walden because Nicholas is feeling nostalgic, and Elliot jokes about bringing a pineapple but doesn’t because he can barely remember why he ever brought a pineapple.

Nicholas tucks Elliot up against him as they look over the pond.

Elliot says, “Well? Are you thinking deep Transcendentalist thoughts?”

Nicholas says, “I’m thinking you should ask me your usual question.”

Elliot grins, because this is a thing, and he knows his role. “Fuck Marry Kill Richelieu,” he says.

Nicholas presses his nose behind Elliot’s ear. Nicholas says, “Hmm.” Nicholas says, “Marry?”

Elliot says yes. 


End file.
